Fallout: Son of the Old World
by InfiniteDragon
Summary: The Capitol Wasteland, ten years later. Project Purity was a success. The Enclave is all-but gone, and the Brotherhood of Steel is in power. However, all is not well. One survivor of the Old World is thrown into the New... And War? War Never Changes.
1. Chapter 0: Prologue

**A/N**: Well... I never thought I'd see the day that I wrote a Fallout fic. However, like with so many other good fandoms, when inspiration and the opportunity for originality strikes... what can you do?  
>I didn't want to write another "Here's my walkthrough of the game" fic. Or another "post-game" fic in the vein of "Rangers: Echo" (by Thug4less, if I got his name right, which is a good fic FYI), or a pre-game ala "New California Dreaming" (another good fic).<br>No... this one's something different. It's going to be set ten years (or so, and slightly subject to change) post-Fallout3, where the Lone Wanderer chose to sacrifice himself for Project Purity. However... all is not lost.

This Capitol Wasteland is a bit different than you're used to. For one, the tidal basin around the Jefferson Memorial is cleaner than it has been in two centuries. Nearly rad-free, in fact. The Potomac isn't perfect, of course, but since the Enclave has been largely removed from power in the region with the destruction of the Raven Rock base and the Brotherhood of Steel's victory at the Jefferson Memorial, the Brotherhood has become the major power in the region... at least, for the 'good guys'.  
>But it's ten years later, and a lot can change in that time...<p>

However...

War.  
>War never changes.<p>

**X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X**

Dossier of Vault Inhabitants, Vault 100, Citizen 0342 memo.

Subject:

Duncan Maddox; Age 14 (09/17/2063). Caucasian Male.

Resident of Brunswick, Maryland (Slightly northwest of Point of Rocks, which will later be known as Raven Rock).

Grades: Middling, higher grades in Earth Sciences, lower in Arts and Music. Extracurricular activities include; Eagle Scout (Notable achievments include Survival Badge, Neighborhood Watch Badge, and Hunting Badge).

Notes: We believe young Mr. Maddox will be a prime candidate for our great experiement. He is average in nearly every way, but has shown talent in practical application of knowledgeability to adapt to change, as indicated by his highly-developed survival skills and the divorce of his parents (See Appendix DLC-0510-100). Mr. Maddox has fallen in with a rougher crowd lately, likely do to his rebellious teenage hormones, but we believe that, when the bombs fall, he will remember what is important to him- getting to the designated Vault.

As several other class and schoolmates of his have also been assigned to Vault 100, it is likely that when the stasis is lifted, Mr. Maddox will assume a leadership role given his knowledge and ability to adapt. This makes him a prime candidate for rebuilding society in Vault-Tec's image, if he can bring his fellow citizens to safety in the new world.

Dr. Alan Shezar, C-P, Grade Six.

**Prologue: The End of Days**

"Oh shit!" Lance yelled suddenly. The five boys looked up as one from the various glowing screens of the run-down arcade, their gang leader's tone indicating that all was not well.

"What?" Scooter, the smallest and youngest asked, "Fuzz coming? We ain't s'psed to be in school now! Can't arrest us!"

"No!" Lance cried, pointing up and out the west-facing window, "_Look_!"

Duncan, right in the middle of the group, could just make out white streaks of light climbing into the sky. The arcade continued to bleep with noise, but every resident- the five members of their gang and the proprieter- stood in silence, watching as lances of fire continued to climb into the sky. "It's... it's happening," he whispered after several minutes.

"Wh- what? What's happening?" Scooter asked, turning away from the windows to stare at him.

Duncan shook his head, suddenly moving toward the door at a run, dodging friend and electronic amusement alike as he went, "_It_! The War! The Big One! Those are nukes, man! I gotta get home, get to my mom and my sis!"

He didn't stop to listen as the rest burst into motion as well.

Because Duncan was already half-way down the block on his bike, glad he hadn't bothered to lock it despite the seedier area the arcade was in.

(O)(O)(O)

"Mom! Taylor! Are you guys- what's going on? Mom!"

Dropping his bike at the foot of the porch steps, Duncan threw himself up and forward. Just as he reached for the door, it was flung open.

"Duncan! Mom's at work! She called and said- she said we need to go to the Vault. She's gonna meet us there! I got her bag and yours all right here, so- so we can go!"  
>"Right!" Duncan nodded, struggling to lift the two backpacks onto his shoulders at once. But he couldn't leave them behind... just couldn't. They'd been instructed, he knew, to take only important documents and papers, medical records, things like that. But this stuff... it was heavy, but he, his mother, and sister had all agreed that some things were just more important. While they had those things, secured in supposedly air-tight containers in the bottom of each person's bag, they also had... well, time to worry about that later.<p>

"All right, sis, let's get going! It's a half-mile to the Vault, so we gotta hurry. Get your bike unlocked!"

Duncan had wrestled the two packs, one much larger than his own, onto his back and climbed onto his bike again, already out of breath from the ride and struggle with extra weight, before his sister had gotten her own smaller one from the garage and wheeled up alongside him.

Without a word, both spared a moment for a last look at their home.

It was nothing special, just one of a hundred pre-fabricated homes just like it in the neighborhood, defined only by the color of the cheap siding and the number in black next to the door. All around them, parents were hurriedly throwing belongings into cars.  
>As they began to move, Duncan thought he heard one family a few houses away screaming, before several gunshots rang out.<p>

_It's already started... the bombs haven't even fallen, but people are already dying... war sucks..._

Two blocks away, the teenager and his thirteen-year-old sister passed the first boarded-up house. _The Johnsons... they left for the north woods of Canada two weeks ago. It's like they knew this was coming._

But that was not the first empty lot they passed.

By the time Duncan and Taylor had reached the Vault entrance, there was already a large crowd gathered at the entrance to the compound. Far more, he knew, than the Vault would be able to hold. Fortunately, several Protectrons, and even a Mr. Gutsy, were holding most of the near-riot crowd back, while a few United States Army soldiers were checking identification. As they moved down the hill toward the bunker at the water's edge, both sets of eyes were already searching for their mother, her car, or even their father, who neither had seen for months.

_Where is she... mom? Mom, where are you? You'd better be here... you promised you would..._

Despite the growing crowd, the two were able to shoulder their way through after having found a neighbor's family and following in their wake.

Once they'd had their entrance passes scanned by the Army officers, Linda Rickman, mother of Cheryl, Amber, and Cody, the first of which was Taylor's best friend, hugged both of them to her breast, "Oh, I'm so glad you two are here... listen, your mom made me promise, swear on my life, that I'd do everything I could for you if she wasn't here... if she didn't make it in time. So come with me, and... and I'll keep my eyes open for her too, okay?"

Taylor, already hyperventilating, only nodded before moving to grip Cheryl tightly.

Duncan nodded tersely as well, sparing a glance for Cody, who he'd never particularly gotten on with, and their father, who's name he'd never known. "Mr. Rickman."

The tall man looked down at Duncan, pale-faced, "D- Duncan. How g-good to see you. Are you- were your family given passes to Vault One-Hundred as well?"

Duncan nodded again, "Yes, sir."

But as the crowd grew louder, and the line formed by those being allowed entrance to the great Vault that promised safety and security from the nuclear war grew shorter, his eyes never stopped roving, looking for a woman he knew he'd never see again.

_Mom... why aren't you here? You promised..._

(O)(O)(O)

"Welcome, Maddox, Duncan."  
>The Protectron's artificial voice made Duncan scowl. It wasn't like he hated them, but the machines always mangled the pronunciation of his name. It wasn't Dune-can!<br>"Please proceed to your left. Deposit all personal belongings in the locker designated 0342, including your clothing. Once the locker is closed, proceed to the next room, following the RED line, where you will be given a Vault-issue Vault One-Hundred Jumpsuit. Once you are wearing your Vault-issue Vault One-Hundred Jumpsuit, new instructions will be given to you."

Duncan nodded, and slipped his hands from his little sister's grip. She moaned behind him.

"It'll be all right, Taylor," he consoled, not turning around while the robot repeated it's instructions, but for the name, and indicating she should follow the GREEN line into a different room to change, "Remember, Vault-Tec promised we'd be together, so don't worry. You don't wanna change with a bunch of guys, do yah?"

He heard her whimper, but didn't respond again. He couldn't, there was another Protectron already ushering him forward.

(O)(O)(O)

"Maddox, Duncan. Welcome to Vault One-Hundred. Please take a seat in your Medi-Lounger Seven, designated 0342, for your full medical evaluation."

Three feet past him, another Protectron was ushering his sister, looking... well, a little strange, in her blue and yellow-striped Vault Suit, up the ladder and into her own Medi-Lounger. Taylor met his eyes, still terrified, but Duncan only forced a smile, "Mom's gonna make it, sis. I asked the last Army dude I saw, and he said she checked in on her phone from the office. She left like, ten minutes ago, so she should be here by now. Just relax... it's gonna be okay."

Taylor nodded, eventually laying down in the capsule-shaped medical device, as a screen moved down toward her face.  
>The Protectron below him spoke again, "Maddox, Duncan. Your Medi-Lounger Seven is waiting. Seismic reports indicate nuclear detonations nearby Vault One-Hundred. Please take your seat before the Vault is sealed."<p>

Duncan's blood ran cold. Another glance reassured him that his sister was okay. She was already visibly relaxing, eyes closed and everything. Across the large chamber, he could see rows and rows of the Medi-Loungers, hundreds of them, twenty rows of ten each, and stacked three high. He and his sister were both fortunate to be on the bottom. The Rickmans were a few rows away, and Amber was up on the top level.

But his mother... if she wasn't in the Vault already...

_It's too late. She's... she probably didn't make it. And dad was in the pen... he'd never have been let out to get into a Vault._

Duncan scowled before throwing himself into the machine for his medical check.

The screen lowered toward him with the capsule lid, as a soothing voice began to speak, "Maddox, Duncan. Your Medi-Lounger Seven Stasis Pod is equipped with the latest in life-support and -suspension technologies, brought to you by your friends at Vault-Tec and RobCo. For the next sixty years, you will have the pleasure of the deepest sleep in your life, while other Vault-Tec Vaults and their inhabitants will start rebuilding our great society after the horror of nuclear war. And all you need to do is relax! The soothing vapor you're now breathing is a carefully-measured dose of chemicals designed to induce full hibernation in preparation for your-"

Duncan suddenly stopped listening as the words sunk in. Hibernation? Stasis? Sixty years? What the hell was going on? This was just a medical check! Wasn't it?

Panicked eyes slid to the left. His mother's pod... empty.

Right. His sister's... _Thank God... she's in there... and sleeping already... I... I hope this... this... what the hell is going... so... sleep..._


	2. Chapter 1: The Worst Wakeup Call

**A/N: **Here you go, the first official chapter. I hope the lead-in got some of you interested... though I haven't gotten a review, I have had a few alerts at least. This is where the post-apocolypse actually kicks off (well, in between 0 and 1...), so expect more familiar settings. Also, to any resident of the town mentioned above? Sorry if I screwed it up. I'm generalizing based off GoogleMaps' D.C. Area. Lol  
>Also, thank my beta for Fallout fics, CyberWeasel89, for the improved quality. Also blame him for any mistakes. He gets paid in thanks, so it's all right. :)<p>

Lastly, to readers of my other fics- fret not. Nothing (as ever) will be abandoned. In fact, I'm posting a chapter of One Hour with this one, so... there's proof. I have the next chapter of my current Bleach fic half done too, and it's been ages since I've posted that one. lol

**Chap. 1 The Worst Wakeup Call**

Distantly, Duncan was aware of coughing. He thought it might have been his own, but wasn't quite sure.

How could he not be sure if he was coughing?

With monumental effort, he forced open his eyes...

Nothing.

Black emptiness stretched out on all sides. He seemed to be floating in it. Couldn't feel, couldn't see... he could only hear. Rasping, steady, one-two, one-two, slowly, wracked occasionally by the hacking cough which had woken him.

_Beep._

That was new.

_Beep._

The new sound repeated itself, over and over, accompanied only by the rasp of breath and the less-frequent coughing.

And then...

_Drip._

A clatter of... stone? On metal?

Duncan blinked, and suddenly could see again.

Not much, but some. The empty black had transformed into vaguely red-hued gray, but still so dark as to be nearly impenetrable.

_Beep_.

"T- Taylor?"

He shook with surprise. That was not his voice... was it? Deeper, louder... hoarse. Water..._I need water..._

A garble of noise from the screen in front of him, which displayed only static, warned him that power to his Medi-Lounger was failing and that he needed to hit the emergency eject button once he could move again, or he would run out of oxygen within minutes.

Duncan blinked again, and through the scratching of what had to be sand in his eyes, was able to look beyond the screen which had been his only conscious sight for... how many years? _  
>The program had said sixty, didn't it? So it's been sixty years... I'm twice as old as Mom was- would have been.<em>

Weakly, he reached down and fumbled with still-numb fingers for the release catch. He had to pull five times before it clicked, and the hydraulics hissed open.

He regretted it at once. The slightly-moldy air he'd been inhaling for who-knows-how-long was replaced at once with dusty so thick it was a wonder he could breathe at all.

Once his first coughing fit subsided, Duncan was able to sit up and look around. One of the Lounger's many machines was still beeping, quieter now, with a low-battery indicator flashing on the emergency power reader. _Well, that's why it woke me up... but why's it so dark? Shouldn't there be, you know, people? Where's everyone else?_

Eyes straining in the darkness, Duncan looked left, for the second time in a few minutes... and many years. _No... don't even look over there._  
>Right...<em><br>No..._

_No, oh... oh... no..._

His sister's pod... was gone.

Not just gone, but annihilated, crushed beneath the untold weight of two other pods, four-foot reinforced steel-and-concrete ceilings, and the hillside above the Vault, most likely. A great slab had probably ended his sister's life mere minutes after he'd fallen asleep.

And there would be no digging her out, not without heavy machinery, at least.

_Taylor..._

_Mom..._

_Dad..._

His parents, at least, had been able to live a little. But his sister, who he admired, respected, and cared about more than anyone else on the planet, was... she hadn't even been on one date. Hadn't ever been kissed.

_And now she never will be, except kissed by death and concrete._

Eyes watering, cheeks cleansed of dust and the grime of untold years by salt and water, Duncan sobbed for...

Well, he wasn't really sure.

But the beeping of his life-support had ended before he stopped, the screen had gone dark. But when he opened his salt-crusted eyes again, there was a different light, white this time, flickering vaguely some distance off.

"H- Hello?" he called.

The artificial voice of a Protectron was at once annoying and intensely gratifying, relieving, to hear. "Maddox, Duncan. Citizen 0342, life-signs confirmed. Are you able to move, Mr. Maddox?"

Testing his motor-functions more carefully than he had when first waking, Duncan nodded, "Y- yes, I can!" he called, still surprised by his own voice's sound.  
>"Vault-Tec wishes to apologize for the near-failure of Vault One-Hundred, and assures it's Vault Citizens that reparations will be made, and the Vault will be returned to full working order as quickly as possible for the Vault Staff. If you will make your way to this unit, you will be directed to the nearest medical bay for a checkup and any care needed."<p>

Woodenly, unable to fully process the surroundings, much less the details involved, Duncan made his way across the cavernous room toward the robot, which then pointed him to the only clear spot on the wall, which was lucky enough to contain an open doorway with a single light blinking above it in red.  
>"T- thanks," he murmured, suddenly desperate to be outside, to breathe clean air again, to...<p>

To see what had happened.

How different everything would be.

To cast his eyes, only just fourteen, on a world without his father, mother, and sister. Without his friends. Everyone... gone.

He ignored the Protectron telling him to stop, that the door wouldn't open.

He didn't even notice the four voices, human this time, calling out to him.

Instead, he followed the twisting corridors, following the red line the entire way, until he came to the huge, heavy door that was guaranteed by Vault-Tec to withstand all but the most direct nuclear strike.

Duncan's growing spirits (such as they were) were quite surprised to see that it had actually held. The _rest_ of the Vault may have been destroyed, but the door itself was intact, at least on this side. In fact, it didn't appear to have budged at all, if his meager engineering skills were...

_Why the hell do I even care? The world's ended... my life is ended..._

_Why did I even come here? I should have just done what that guy with his gun did... ended my sister fast, then me... and we wouldn't have had to..._

"D- Duncan?"

He blinked. The voice was feminine.

"T- Taylor?"

But the young woman of about sixteen, maybe seventeen, standing in the doorway leading back into the Vault could not be his sister.  
>She was, of course, about four years too old. Brunette to his sister's blonde, green eyes to her blue. As tall as he was, almost, instead of several inches shorter.<p>

Whoever this girl was, though, she looked almost familiar, as if he'd known her, but...

"A... Amber?"

The young woman nodded, "It's me... you... you look d-different."

He could hear the tremor in her voice, and blinked. So did she. Lifting his hands, he stared at them for a long time. They were larger... not any harder. Not calloused as they once had been from long, hard play, working on badges, or at the arcade. In fact, they almost looked soft, as his dad's had been before he'd been arrested.

What kind of criminal had soft hands?  
>The white-collar kind, of course.<p>

_No use dwelling on that, though. He's gone... just like everyone else._

But no...

_Not... not everyone._  
>"Cheryl? What about Cody? Your... your parents?"<p>

Amber shook her head, "N- no... none of them. So... so Taylor didn't...?"

He mirrored her action, "No. The ceiling..."

Amber nodded this time, still not moving from the doorway, "Yeah... it happened to almost everyone. There's... there're three others. You and me, that makes five, but I was found nine hours before you. I don't think it's... I don't think there'll be any more."

He nodded, not sure what to think, what to feel. "So..."

"Hey, new guy," a deep, masculine voice called from behind Amber. The newcomer was taller than Duncan, broader as well, though he was as soft-looking as Duncan figured he must be. "What's your name?"

"D-"

But he was interrupted by Amber, "His name's Duncan Maddox, he was a ne- a friend of my family's."

The larger man nodded, "Right... good to meet ya, man. Come on, there's food and water here, you look like you need it. Look like hell, really."

He had to agree... he probably did.

(O)(O)(O)

"So that's the situation," the tall man, Greg, summarized, "The machines say they have enough food and water to keep the five of us alive for a year or so. They aren't sure what year it is, either, but know the sixty years we were _supposed_ to be asleep are over. And... well, we don't really know anything else."

Duncan nodded. He was as bitter as everyone else about how they'd been deceived. What should have been a fairly standard time in the Vault- twenty years in their case- had suddenly turned to a near-coma-like sleep, in which their bodily functions had been slowed so much that, regardless of how much time had passed, they had aged only a few years. A few years none of them remembered. He'd been fourteen. Now, according to Greg, he could pass for twenty if he tried. The youngest of them, a girl named Cindy, looked about fifteen, while Greg, the oldest, was about nineteen. Amber and Duncan both looked about seventeen, maybe a young eighteen, though for his part, the young man was certain he'd never get used to suddenly being older. He sure didn't _feel_ old enough to vote, or whatever. If there was anything or anyone to vote on.

"And we don't know anything about what's outside?" Robert, the youngest of the males, asked.

No one answered; they all knew it anyway. On the Vault Door Control Panel, a single green light continued to blink, apparently it alone still had plenty of power, even if little else in the ruined Vault functioned.  
>But what was on the other side?<p>

None of them knew, or could even really guess.  
>"We have to go out there," Duncan said after what felt like an hour's silence, "We have to know."<p>

"No way!" Greg said, "There's all that radiation! Maybe mutant bugs! Or worse, Mutant Commies!"

Amber snorted, "Commies can't handle rads any better than we can, stupid. If it'd kill us, it'd kill the Reds."

Duncan nodded, "She's right. Besides, what're you gonna do when the water and food run out? Just starve or die of dehydration?"

Greg still glared at the other two, while the younger pair, Cindy and Robert, seemed undecided.

Duncan shrugged, "I'm no expert, but I hear that's a terrible way to go. You eventually get so weak you can't even breathe any more, and you just... stop. But that doesn't mean it's pleasant or fun. Think of the hungriest, the thirstiest, you've ever been, and multiply that by a thousand. That's scratching the surface of what starving to death feels like."

"Oh yeah?" Greg suddenly cried, standing up from the circle they'd made around one of the few lamps they'd been able to salvage from the emergency supply closet in the entrance room, "Who made you the leader, huh? I'm the oldest, I was the first one awake, and I say we stay. Right. Here!"

Duncan wanted to yell back, wanted to rail and scream and the stupidity, but instead, he said nothing. His dark brown eyes were fixed on Greg, waiting for some sign of hostility other than yelling, but... nothing.

After a while, the taller boy- man- whatever- spun on a heel and stormed back into the dark corridors of Vault 100.

After his echoing footfalls died away, Amber whispered, "Is that right, Duncan? What you said about... about starving?"

He nodded, "'s what I learned getting my survival badge."

The young woman gulped, then nodded. Duncan was surprised to see her jaw was set, and for a moment, regretted not getting to know her better. Cheryl had annoyed him, Cody had been a dick, so he'd avoided this girl in their past life, but now... now he just might be able to... _No, can't think like that. We have to survive, that's all that matters. Still, if she's the last girl on the planet... well... I won't complain. She's pretty under that grime, I bet._  
>"I'd rather die from rads or get killed by mutants than starve."<p>

Duncan nodded, "Me too. That's why I think we should go outside. But even... I'd rather live. But we have to know what's out there. Even just opening it up, taking a look, and closing it again while wearing that mostly-intact rad-suit is better than nothing, right?"

Cindy nodded, "I... I think you're right. But... but shouldn't we stick together? I gew up next door to Greg, and he's pretty stubborn. I don't think he'll... I don't think he'll go if he doesn't want to."

Duncan shrugged, "Can't make him, but he can't make us, either. It's... it's up to each of us. I'm going."

Amber stood up to join him as he did, whispering, "Me too," as she did.

After glancing at Cindy, Robert stood as well, "I guess I'd rather die fast than slow too."

But even though the three of them waited for several minutes, Cindy didn't stand.

"I... I have to stay. He can't be alone... it's... it's not fair, right? I mean, what if we're... if we're the last ones? And you die? What then?"

Duncan sighed, "If we're the last humans alive, then we're dead. You heard the machines; there's only enough food and water for so long. Even if the air filters work well enough for the least-damaged parts of the vault, you can only last for so long. Eventually... you'll have to leave."

Cindy nodded, "I... I guess. But I'm still staying. Just in case."

A few minutes later, Robert, who had woken just minutes after Greg and a half-day before Amber, who had been next, lead Duncan to the locker room where they'd been asked to stow their personal belongings while Amber moved to her own. How both had survived, none of them knew.

Each moved at once to their own lockers, and even larger now, Duncan's soft, weak muscles had a difficult time carrying both his mother's and his own much-degraded backpacks to the Vault Entrance Room.

Ten minutes later, he was half-way done sorting. Medical records, he still kept. Birth certificates, job history for his mother, almost everything was left behind. For personal effects, only a single small, green velvet box. However, he also carried a few other items from his mother's bag, which had been tucked away at the bottom.

A combat knife, likely taken from his grandfather's home after his death, and a single nine-millimeter Beretta, with a box of 24 rounds. Not much, but far better than nothing.

"Are you... what are you going to do with... with those?"

Duncan's hands thrust the knife and gun deeply into the bag, though he knew it was too late. He didn't turn to look at Amber, "Just keeping them- keeping them safe. You know... we don't know what's out there. Some protection wouldn't hurt."

She gulped, nodded, and turned away to drop her own bag on the ground before sorting it.  
>Out of the corner of his eye, Duncan watched both she and Robert pack their bags with almost everything they'd brought. "Wait... leave all that crap."<p>

"What?" Robert asked, looking up.

"The gum, the papers... why do you have all that stuff, anyway? What good's school report cards going to be?"

"Uh... well, I gotta show how well I did, right?"

Duncan shook his head, "No... that stuff's worthless now. If anything's out there, it's not gonna care that you got through seventh grade or whatever. Just take what you _need_. Food, water, medical records... even that's probably just gonna end up as kindling for a fire. Speaking of which, if you guys've got a lighter, bring that for sure. Or a knife, anything you can use as a weapon."

"Uh... w-weapon?"

Duncan closed his eyes and sighed, "Yeah, a weapon. I know a lot of people think there couldn't be any mutants, but radiation's been proven to do crazy things to lab rats and stuff. You never know what might have survived, so... it's better to be prepared, right?"

"But... but I'm just thirteen. I don't have a weapon. My parents wouldn't even let me have a pocket knife!"

Amber replied softly, "You aren't thirteen any more, Rob. You look like you're sixteen or seventeen, remember? I don't like it, but Duncan's right. We should be prepared. I don't have anything, though. The closest I've got is this curling iron my mom insisted I bring. Maybe I could beat a bear to death with it."

Duncan snorted with laughter as she threw the contraption away, watched as it clattered to the ground near the Vault Door. "Here... one of you can take this. I'll keep the gun, I'm not a bad shot. I practiced with my dad some a few years ago, anyway."

Reluctantly, he pulled the knife from his bag and held it out, but neither reached for it.

After a few seconds, Duncan grabbed Robert's hand and slapped the sheath into it, "Don't forget, the pointy end goes in whatever's attacking you. Don't lose it."

Amber scowled, "Why'd you give it to him, and not me? Trying to protect me or something? Soon as the world ends, you gotta treat me like I'm a glass doll?"

Duncan frowned, "No! It's just... he's bigger and stronger, right? He can use the knife better, right? At least, it'll hurt more, he can hit harder. Besides... if I die, you get the pistol. If he dies, you get the knife. It's fair, right?"

He didn't want to mention, since Amber appeared slightly mollified, that without a weapon she was the one most likely to die first if things came down to it.

"Well," he said a few minutes later after they'd gotten their essentials, and only the essentials, back in the bag, "looks like that's it. Say goodbye to Vault One-Hundred, after a day... or whatever it's been."

Robert stepped up next to him at the console, staring at the blinking green light, while Amber hesitated for a second.  
>They had all heard it, the soft footfalls in the corridor.<p>

"So... so you guys are really leaving, then?" Cindy asked from the doorway.

Duncan looked back to see the slight girl sillohuetted in the doorway, "Yeah. If we stay we die. If we leave... maybe we die. Easy choice for me."

His companions frowned or gulped, but neither denied it. Cindy nodded, "Okay. I told Greg that's what you'd probably do. He just muttered about more food for us. I think he's a jerk, but... but I gotta stay. Good luck."  
>Duncan nodded. "Hey... before we go. Keep an ear open, huh? If we come back- any of us- and tap five times, then four times, then three times on the door, or if you hear us at the intercom... it's safe to let us in, okay? Five, four, three in that order. You know, if we find something good. Or... or if we don't find anything."<p>

The smallest of them nodded, "I'll remember, and tell Greg. Five, four, three taps."

Nodding again, Duncan turned back to the console, hesitated for a moment, and then hit the button.

A loud rush of pressurized air flushed from the hydraulic lines around the door jack, before it swung downward and screwed itself into place.

Then, with an almighty screech of steel-on-steel, the jack began to move backwards, taking the humongous steel door with it.

Thirty seconds later, it was over..

Bright sunlight, far brighter than he'd been expecting, flooded into the entrance chamber from the tunnel's end twenty feet or so away. He could hear water in the distance.

"The Potomac's still running, so there's water."

Amber, who had been the only one carrying a dosimeter, read off, "Showing just low background... barely higher than we're used to. It's been a long time... if the war really happened."

Duncan nodded firmly and started walking, "It did. DC's on a stable plane, so it couldn't have been an earthquake. At least, not a natural one. The U.S. Capitol? It got hit, and hit hard. I think it's just been a while."

On the other side of the door now, the three stopped when Cindy called, "I'm shutting the door! Five, four, three! Good luck!"

Amber was the only one who replied, "To you and Greg, too!" before the door mechanism drowned out any chance of communication.

For only a moment, Duncan took note of this side's door controls, which still showed a blinking green light, then turned and continued out the entrance tunnel, doing his best to ignore the graffiti and black, charred skeletons that littered the path.  
>It wasn't like he could do anything for them anyway, right?<p>

(O)(O)(O)

"Well, welcome to hell, I guess," Duncan said, sweeping the horizon with already world-weary eyes. "Just like home, right? Damn."

Robert sniffed, but said nothing.

Amber, on his other side, whimpered.

The suburban city of Brunswick, Maryland was probably spared a direct strike, but you wouldn't be able to tell judging from the damage. As far as they could see, on either the Virginia or Maryland side of the river, there was only burned-out, blasted remains of buildings, with only a rare few standing higher than three feet intact.

"My house... my house was right across the river. Right there," Robert pointed.

Duncan didn't bother looking. It wouldn't do any good.

"High ground, let's get a look around," he said, hoping that by moving, moving and not stopping, they could maybe alleviate some of the depression he could already feel coming.

Two hours later, they crested the hill he and his sister had raced down what seemed like only hours before on their bikes, racing against the horror he had known was coming... but had never known it would be like this.

"My house was that way," he muttered, gesturing without looking down one of the streets.

Amber nodded, "Yeah... mine too. I guess there's no point in looking around, right?"

Duncan nodded, "If anyone survived, it's been picked clean by now, probably. Let's go to the highest building, can't see enough from here. Don't climb it right off, though, we gotta make sure it's stable first."

As they searched, Duncan was a little glad that both Amber and Robert seemed to be in shock. He knew it would wear off, and that's when the hard part would begin. For himself, though, he just wasn't sure. He knew he _should_ be in shock, but... he didn't seem to be. At least, he wasn't able to identify the symptoms in himself if he was.  
>"Hey..." he said after about an hour's more walk, "Are my eyes dilated or anything? Do I seem... I donno, twitchy?"<p>

Robert frowned at him, but only shook his head. Amber, who at least knew him a little better, shook her head. "No... I've been watching, too. I know I am... I can feel it. But you seem all right."

"Watching for what? What's going on?"

Duncan shrugged, but kept walking, "Shock. You guys are both in shock, and I'm just wondering why I'm not."

The next person to speak was Amber, another twenty minutes later, "You've always been tough. I remember when you got hit by that car when you were six, and you just got up and kept going. Didn't cry or anything."

That made him pause, "I did what? Got hit by a car? I don't remember that."

Amber actually giggled, and he was a bit relieved that it didn't sound at all hysterical. In fact, it sounded... nice. "You were six, I'm not surprised. It wasn't going real fast, but it was one of those big Chrysalis Motors four-doors, ran right into you, and you got knocked a few feet, then got up and kept walking. Your mom freaked out, she saw the whole thing- it was right outside your house, and you were on your way over to ours to play with Cody."

Duncan blinked, "Really? Huh. I was friends with Cody? That's weird."

His companions shared an amused glance at what he thought was the 'weird' part.

(O)(O)(O)

"I wish we had some binoculars, or a telescope, or _something_. There's a weird color to the east, but I can't tell what it is. Green, I guess, but why's that part green with nothing else around here that way?"

Duncan frowned. His eyesight wasn't bad, but he couldn't see any green at all, unless you counted the faded green of Amber's backpack, which had been olive once. "What do you mean, Rob?" he asked.

"I donno, it's just... everywhere's brown or black or gray, but to the east, it's green. Only at the edge of the horizon, though, so I can't really tell."

Duncan was about to reply when a terrified call came from below radio tower they'd climbed, "Uh, guys? There's something... something out there. It's big... and it's coming this way."

Sparing only a second looking down to find out where Amber was pointing, he scanned outward. Sure enough, there was a colossal black-furred shape lumbering through the ruins toward them. "Fuck!" he swore, already shimmying down the tower as q uickly as he could, "Is that a bear?"

A moment behind him, Robert called, already out of breath from the climb, "Ain't like no bear I've ever seen!"

"Back to the Vault?" Amber asked, now that they were only a few feet above her. She was shaking visibly.

"Never make it," Duncan replied, "That thing's moving pretty quick, and it doesn't even look like it's in a hurry. Vault's hours away... shelter. Gotta find shelter..."

And so they ran, as quickly as they could, toward the river, which was the best any of them could come up with.

Behind them, growing louder and louder, was a repeated 'wuff, wuff' of heavy breathing, and hundreds of pounds of meat being carried along by four clawed legs. He didn't dare look back, because each was already out of breath, panting due to being so out-of-shape, each fervently praying that he wouldn't be the one who fell behind.

And then it happened.

Just before Duncan felt he couldn't run any more, not another step, Robert tripped.  
>Neither of the others stopped, didn't even slow down, until they were several hundred feet away, at the edge of the steep, concrete-lined slope that went directly into the Potomac, dozens of feet below at this spot.<p>

Neither slowed even for Robert's screams, which lasted several long seconds, before the beast, whatever it was, ripped out his throat.

But they turned and looked back once they reached the relative safety... at least, the safety of having no where else to run.

Both of them were heaving, panting for breath. Duncan could feel pressure in his chest and throat, pain he couldn't blame on his body. He'd... he'd just left someone that could have been a friend to die. Left him to save himself. Wasn't he the one with the gun? Shouldn't he have... done something? Anything?

The creature, which, now that Duncan took a moment to get a better look, _did_ closely resemble a very thin bear, if he squinted.

But their momentary reprieve was just that.

Because just then, a roar which could only have come from a similar creature bellowed out from behind a wall just a few feet away.  
>Duncan froze. He could hear whatever it was lumbering to it's feet. They had moments left... what could they do?<br>He couldn't abandon Amber, too. Not like Robert._ Never... never again. _Just when the black-tipped snout came around the edge of the wall, Duncan grabbed Amber's arm and jumped backwards as hard as he could.

Unfortunately, on the way down, his head struck the concrete at the edge of the river twice before he hit water.

(O)(O)(O)

"All right, local," a measured, artificial-sounding voice woke Duncan, "the meds wore off ten minutes ago, I know you're awake. Get up."

Blinking in the harsh sunlight, Duncan looked around as he did so before freezing in surprise. Whatever he'd thought would happen after he'd pulled Amber over the edge and into the Potomac... this was not it.

"Is... is that power armor? Where... where am I?"

"Yes, it's power armor. No, you can't have any, so don't ask. This is the Brotherhood of Steel's Raven Rock outpost. It's restricted territory, so as soon as you're on your feet, I'm gonna have to escort you out of here. Your friend's already gone."

"My... wait, Amber? So, she made it?"

"Oh, was that her name? I donno, she left three days ago, followed one of our resupply convoys. Kinda strange, if you ask me. I thought she might've been a slave or something, the way she acted. Nothing useful in her bag, no weapons... so I slipped her a ten-mil. Don't tell my superiors, though, that was my regulation sidearm."

"Oh. I... okay."

"What about you, local? Got a name? Something I can put on a report, anyway."

"Uh... Duncan. Duncan Maddox."

"Maddox, Duncan. Got it. So what's your story? Slave? Or... that Vault-Suit's pretty new-looking. You just open up, or something? I know the Citadel's got records of all of 'em around here, but I didn't know there were still some unopened."

"Uh... y-yeah, I guess. What's the Citadel?"

The man- he was sure it was a man, despite the modulated voice- chuckled, "It's the Brotherhood's DC chapter, kid. Used to be the Pentagon's main building. Maybe you've heard of it?"

Duncan snorted, "'Course I have. Hasn't everyone?"

The helmet slid back and forth a few times, accompanied again by chuckles, "You'd be surprised what the ignorant locals around here _don't_ know. Still, I'm glad things are looking up, now that Project Purity's been completed."

"Project Purity?"

"Oh yeah, you probably don't know. Well, ten years ago or so, nine, really, all the water in the area was irradiated. Bad enough it was hard to find clean water to drink, safe water, you know? But then this crazy genius scientist and his team, and later his daughter, built this massive water purifier out of the Jefferson Memorial. It's cleaning up, little by little, all the water around here. But since they're gone, and we can't get into the Memorial again ourselves- radiation leak- we're taking the knowledge they gave us and building more Purifiers. That's actually what we're doing here."

"Oh."

"Listen, don't tell my CO I said anything about that, huh? It's not exactly a secret, but we're trying to keep it quiet. Keeps raider attacks down, and all that."

"Raiders?"

The power-armored soldier nodded, and gestured with what looked like a fancy laser rifle to Duncan, "Come on, kid, get up. You're fine, so you gotta move. I'll explain a bit on the way out, wouldn't feel right if I just through out you the gates with nothing. Raiders... savages, the lot of 'em. Druggies, rapists, murderers... do yourself a favor, kid. You ever see someone coming at you with a weapon, you shoot first, ask questions later, all right? If you've been in a Vault for the last two-hundred years, you don't know anything about surviving out here in the Wasteland. You'll live longer if you listen to that advice."

"The... Wasteland?"  
>"The Capitol Wasteland. Washington D.C. Ruins, whatever you want to call it. We're near the north-west border of the area now, with D.C. itself far to the southwest, on the bay. That spire you can just see on the horizon? That's the Washington Monument, tallest building in the country now, far as we can tell. And we can tell a lot."<p>

"Oh. So... Raiders are bad?"

"The worst. Even the men, from what I hear, would as soon rape a spring chicken like you as shoot you. The worst would cut you up, cook you, and eat you afterwards."

"So... uh... what should I do, then?"  
>The armored shoulders shrugged, "Can't say. We aren't recruiting, so you can't stay here, though. Listen... if I were you, I'd make for Big Town, Megaton, Arefu, or better, Rivet City. Those are the largest settlements in the area, mostly in order. Megaton's a bigger and safer than Arefu nowadays, but not by so much. Mostly just follow the river, and you'll at least go near every one of those places. Don't go <em>in<em> the river, though, 'cause there's rads all over until you get near the D.C. Ruins themselves."

"Oh...kay..."

"One more thing. Stay on this side of the river if you can. The north-east side's Deathclaw territory for a long way, and past that it's Slavers. Not that this side's safe, just saf_er_."

"D-Deathclaw? And... really? Slavers?"

"Yep. Here ya go, kid," the soldier said, grabbing a familiar bag from the guard-post near the gate in the chain-link and razor-wire fence, "All your stuff. Hey... you were out for about a week, so I cleaned your gun up a bit. Replaced the ammo with some spares. It's better quality than what you had. And, I, uh... I put some trade goods in there. You know, so you aren't penniless."

Duncan stumbled. _And I thought even in my day, all kindness was gone from the world. Maybe these Brotherhood guys aren't so bad after all, if they patched us both up after fishing us out of the river, and fixed my gun up, too._

"Hey, kid... watch out for the mutants and zombies, too, okay? They've been getting meaner, lately."

"M- mutants? And... did you really say _zombies_?"  
>But the soldier only shut the chain-link gate with the push of a button. Duncan was about to grab it and call out when he felt, more than heard, the hum of electricity start running through the wire fence.<p>

On the other wide, the soldier gave a jaunty wave to the guard, who had ignored Duncan's presence the whole time, and whistled as he walked back into the military compound.

With a heavy sigh, Duncan turned back around.

Before him stretched the Potomac, twisting downhill as it went through an S-curve toward what was once the Capitol of the mightiest nation on Earth. "Well hell. What a way to wake up, tossed out from safety into this shit."

But he was not the type who would give up so easily.

With another deep breath, Duncan moved one foot, and then the other.

Behind him was happiness, teenaged years, friends, family.  
>Ahead?<br>Only the Wasteland.


	3. Chapter 2: Boots are made for Walkin'

**A/N**: Well, here's chapter 2 of Son of the Old World (From now on, SOW for short... despite the silly acronym, I am lazy). Sorry about the delay, my beta had a bit of a delay 'cause of moving, etc. However, the good news is that as I type this, Cyberweasel89 is going over Chapter 3, which I will post in a day or two... hopefully I'll remember. :)  
>Anyway, this may seem (at first) like a transition chapter. It's not, and I'll explain why (for those that need it) afterwards in my second AN... though much of it should be clear already. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy!

**Chap. 2 These Boots are Made for Walkin'**

Two hours later, Duncan was wiping his brow of sweat for the thirtieth time. The Wasteland was _hot_. He hadn't even though to question what season it was, what day it was, in the short time he'd been inside the military compound.

But it had to be summer, and the Vault Suit he was wearing was not exactly the most breathable kit he'd ever worn, no matter what Vault-Tec had claimed in their advertisements. Just before he rounded the cliff face on the way down the mountainside along the broken road, he paused.

_Voices. Four of them. They sound... weird._

He hesitated for a moment, then backed up a little, slid his mother's pack off one shoulder, and dug around as quietly as he could for the pistol. It took him a little while to remember how to check the clip and undo the safety. _Just in case. I won't shoot if they aren't... aren't dangerous. Those Brotherhood guys seemed all right. Not that this litt__le toy would go through power armor anyway._

Moving slowly forward, Duncan peeked around the cliff face he'd reached a few minutes before. Standing around a waste-barrel fire were four... creatures.

_What. The. Fuck. That guy wasn't kidding! There really _are_ zombies! What'm I gonna _do_? They're on the only path! Do I... but a headshot works, right? I mean... that's what everyone always said, right? And if they're zombies, they aren't... aren't _people_ any more. Right?_

Duncan nodded to himself, raised the pistol to peer along the sights, and pulled the trigger when one rotten ear-hole was centered above the little triangle.

The report made Duncan flinch back behind the rock, which probably saved his life. The other three immediately started growling, asking each other in their strange voices where the shot had come from, and if it was a crazy Brotherhood soldier taking pot-shots at them.

Shaking himself in an effort to maintain his self-control, Duncan slowly slid out from behind the rock again. This time he was a little quicker aiming, and took another shot within seconds.  
>Unfortunately, even as the second zombie's head exploded, spraying one of the others with red and gray goo, the fourth spotted him.<p>

"There!" he cried, pointing at the rock, "It's a human!"

_Shit!_

Not having any better option, knowing that the two zombies, even slow as they seemed to be moving, would probably wear him out if nothing else, he pulled the trigger again.

A lucky shot nearly severed the fourth zombie's head from his shoulders. It flopped around uselessly, almost pathetically, for several seconds before stopping.

All the while, the panic in Duncan rose, because his fourth, fifth, and sixth shots had all missed the last, blood-and-brain splattered zombie, and it was getting closer every second.

"You little shit!" it cried, "What the hell did we ever do to y-"

But it's words were cut off by the seventh shot, which ripped through the zombie's right knee, dropping it to the ground.

With a growl of rage and pain, the creature stood up again, it's only weapon, a broken pool cue, gripped tightly in it's right hand.

The eighth shot took that arm off at the shoulder.

The ninth, to the center of the zombie's torso, made it twitch for a few seconds as the one before had done, before it, too, fell silent, still glaring at him with milky white eyes.

Slowly, Duncan forced himself to relax. It was over.  
>Wasn't it?<p>

_Fuck. Talking zombies... just what the world needs after nuclear war, right? I gotta get to safety... that guy said there were towns. I gotta go there... gotta find Amber, see if she's still all right. What did he say? Arefu? Megaton? Big Town? Stupid name. But if I follow the river, I should... I should be all right. If I can avoid any more zombies, anyway._

Horrified by the smell, not to mention the gore, Duncan closed his eyes and forced himself to walk past the makeshift camp, leaving the zombies to rot further still in the sun.

(O)(O)(O)

Heart racing in time with his pounding feet, Duncan paused only once for the next three miles, longer than he'd ever run in one stint before, to vomit off the side of the road. His first real taste with death, to him, was just hours before, when Robert had been eaten by that bear-thing. The second was even closer, when the zombies- undead by all accounts- had almost killed him. In return, he'd destroyed them, blown their human-like brains out of their skulls.  
>Turned them into paste with his father's 9mm.<p>

Fighting the urge to retch again, Duncan continued on, still running though is legs burned furiously. He was brought to a sudden halt when the road before him stopped at the edge of a precipice. Panting, Duncan gasped for breath even as he fell to the ground, but his eyes- terrified, horrified, anxious eyes- swept his surroundings even so, even though they too burned with salty tears.

Gorge ahead, Potomac river below. Two highway bridges over it, one decidedly safer-looking than the other. The less-safe, though, had one vehicle- a cargo tractor-trailer- skewed halfway across it. The road split to his left and right, taking each of the bridges, while a smaller side-road continued further south along the west side of the river toward what Duncan knew as the SatComm DFNS Array's southern-most towers.  
>The group of them- originally twelve in all- were once the height of missile-defense technology, able to detect incoming ICBM's from a thousand miles away with pin-point accuracy, and direct incoming fire to intercept, all without even needing a human's say-so.<br>But that hadn't been all. They had also been nuclear launch controls for the various silos in the area, in case enemy forces happened to win enough victories on land or sea to actually (Heaven forbid) close on the United States Capitol. They were the country's last nuclear deterrent.

The towers had also been the project his father had been caught embezeling from, which had landed him a triple life sentence in the new Fort Knox Prison.  
>Duncan shook his head; no use worrying about that now. He was long gone, just like everyone else.<p>

Mom. Taylor.

_But Amber's still out there, somewhere._

Just as a new wave of determination to find the last link with his past washed over him, Duncan heard a distant cry, "Help! Oh, shit, it's gonna bl-"

Eyes suddenly riveted to the northern bridge, specifically the tractor-trailer, Duncan saw it happen. A scientist, or at least a person dressed in an almost impeccably-white lab coat over his black trousers and shirt, was blown forcibly out the back of the trailer, accompanied by several smaller objects that were too small at this distance to identify.  
>Ignoring for the moment the dangers of the two-hundred year-old overpass, and the decreasing proximity to the 'deathclaws', whatever they were, Duncan ran for the trailer at once. He had to help, didn't he?<p>

If he'd had anything left in his stomach, Duncan would have lost it at once when he reached the scientist. There were two gaping holes in his torso, each bleeding profusely. The first was dead-center through the man, who looked about forty and vaguely asian, puncturing his sternum and heart on it's way through. The second was lower and off-center, having blown a three-inch hole through his left abdomen, just above his hips. He was quite obviously dead, even aside from the crazy angle of his neck, which had crashed against the top edge of the barricade over the gorge.

The objects which had, apparently, killed him? Cans of Pork-N-Beans.

Six of them lay scattered around, two of them underneath the body, smashed against him and the concrete k-rail with great force. Two of them, though, looked salvageable...

_These things were designed to keep forever, right? I mean... he doesn't need them any more._

_And I'm gonna get pretty hungry... Fuck it. Mine now._

Keeping an eye out for any trouble that might have been called by the explosion, Duncan gathered up the remaining two cans, paused for a moment, and then began rifling the pockets of the scientist.

The lab coat was near-worthless, now, he decided. One large hole in the side, right through a pocket, and the large blood-stains made him cringe at the thought of handling it. But the scientist had several other things in the truck worth keeping, although much of it was damaged by the explosion, whatever it had been.  
>A near-perfect condition laser rifle, <em>and shit, this thing's heavy! Can I even fire it<em>_? Is there power? Are the optics aligned right?_, sixty multi-purpose energy cells, several of the bottle caps the Brotherhood soldier had stuck in his pack, a few bottles of murky water, even better, two stimpacks, and... and...

_Holy shit. Is that what I think it is?_

But the bulbous object, olive green with a radiation symbol on three sides, could only be just that.

A T4K-NUC. Nukular Industries' pride and joy, the small-yield (half kiloton) tactical nuclear warhead, commonly known as a 'micro-nuke'.  
>Duncan shuddered again.<p>

Those things, or things like them, had destroyed the world. But he couldn't just leave it, could he? He was fortunate it hadn't been damaged in the smaller explosion, because even a blast that size would probably have collapsed the road, not to mention killing him from a half-mile away.

But could he also leave it here? That would be pretty irresponsible.

What if some kid wandered across it and hit it with a hammer or something?

Groaning, Duncan went back to the scientist, stripped the lab coat from him while doing his best to ignore the increasing stench of rotten beans and pork, and gingerly wrapped the warhead in it before sticking it in his pack.

"Okay... I gotta get out of here before anything else comes investigating."

Duncan ducked his head outside, already paranoid that some great beast like the bear-creatures or the mysterious 'deathclaws' would be outside, checking both directions before sprinting, ignoring the protests of his exhausted legs, for the west side of the river again.

"I need... need a place... to rest..." he panted, priorities shifting quickly from escape to just that.

(O)(O)(O)

The location Duncan found to rest was hardly ideal. The structure was a three-walled contraption of rusted tin or sheet metal, with a roof of... leafless branches. The last wall was actual concrete from a half-wall, all that was left of one of the old SatComm towers.

He hadn't slept with such an unobstructed view of the stars since he'd last been on a camping trip, which had been a reward from his father for gaining his Eagle Scout badge, when he was twelve. How many years ago was that, now?  
>As fatigue and exhaustion overtook his fear and anxiety, the young man mused that he still didn't even know what year it was, so he couldn't find out how long he'd been asleep.<p>

Just as he got close to actual sleep, the howl of a dog from somewhere in the distance made him jerk awake.

There was an accompanying howl, reminding Duncan of stories he'd heard of wolves howling at the moon, this time from further away. His fear kept him awake for another two hours before the silence, broken only by the light breeze whistling through the branches above, lulled him to sleep at last.

(O)(O)(O)

Gnawing hunger woke him. After a quick check of his surroundings looking for large predators (in hopes that he could eat without being eaten himself), Duncan took a few minutes to examine his belongings. On top of what he'd looted- _no, scavenged_- from the dead scientist, there were three bottles of pure, clean water he'd taken from Vault 100, a pair of cans of Dusty Trails Chilli (Extra Spicy, his favorite), and some unfamiliar items, apparently put there by the man in power armor. _  
><em>_Okay, so he gave me another forty-five rounds for the nine millimeter. That brings me up to... __uh..._  
>Duncan spent a few minutes calculating in his head, but the battle with zombies the day before had been a blur, so instead, he started counting them out one by one.<p>

_Twenty-four regular rounds, and twelve of these... I haven't seen bullets like this before. Are these supposed to be armor-piercing, or something? They're jacketed, like the name of that old war movie, full-metal-bullet or something... huh. I guess that's what he meant by higher quality. Even the regular ones are newer-looking. They must have a way to make new bullets, at least.  
>On top of that, there's three books. No wonder it was heavy. I wonder if people can read still? Five forks, two spoons, a knife, and... is this a lawnmower blade? Seriously? Well, whatever. I guess a junk store would buy it or something, if they still have that kind of thing.<em>

"So chilli or... pork-n-beans. After yesterday, I'm a little nervous opening those cans, so I guess the good stuff it is. Mm... cold chilli!"

Except he didn't have a way to open the can.

"Damn it!" he cried loudly, raising the can as if to throw it in frustration, before getting a hold of himself. "No... no, I can't waste it. These might be the only intact cans of chilli left. I gotta save 'em. Besides, if I even find a knife or something I can use that, right? Can't give up. Gotta keep going."

(O)(O)(O)

Those words became his mantra for the day as Duncan continued to hike along the west side of the Potomac, sometimes up higher on the bluffs, sometimes down near the water-line (though not _too_ close, he wasn't sure how hot it was with radiation).

He found another, new reason to fight on when the first sharp projectile struck him low in the left thigh, a couple inches above his knee.

"Ow! Son of a _bitch_!"

The old stick he'd been using as a walking staff fell to the rocks with a clatter before rolling over the edge of the trail he'd been following, and down into the river valley. As he watched it fall, another of the things struck the rock next to him and shattered.

It was only then that Duncan realized he was being attacked. Just as his head turned to look up the hillside to his right, a third flying object zipped towards him.

He threw himself forward into a roll, taking the only cover available, a charred, burned-out husk of a tree stump, while he drew his pistol.

_Shit, what the hell was that? It was flying and shooting things at me!_

Numbly, as if on auto-pilot, Duncan rolled sideways onto one knee, ignoring the protests in his aching leg as he did so, and pointed his pistol up the hill.

_Follow the sights. Exhale before pulling the trigger. Don't panic, don't jump, don't flinch. Just aim and pull the trigger. Nothing to it, right dad?_

He still flinched, of course, when the report went off, and the bullet went wide of... whatever it was.

_Holy sh- __what _is_ that thing? It's as big as my head, but it looks like a fly! Or a wasp, or a bee, or- or _something_!_

Another of the strange projectiles seemed to be extruded from the buzzing, flying insectoid's tail-end and was flung toward him with startling force.

Duncan lunged back behind the stump, and felt the ancient wood shudder under the impact as the stinger struck it.

_Shit, if it _is_ a stinger from a bee or something, it might be venomous. I gotta get that thing out of my leg! But I can't, not while this thing's right there shooting at me still!_

He gulped and rolled out again, this time onto the other knee.

_Focus. Use the sights.  
>Exhale.<br>Fire._

This bullet was a bit more accurate; it tore through the left wing on the fly-creature, sending it spiraling to the ground, where it twitched for a few seconds, seemingly unable to understand that it just couldn't fly any more.

Once Duncan realized it wouldn't be able to get closer to him, he ducked back behind the stump and tore at his vault jumpsuit, ripping the hole in the pant leg about three times wider.

He paled at the sight.  
>Being a rather rough-and-tumble young man had inured him a bit to injury and pain, but the sight of a three-inch-long stinger buried two inches into his leg, which was bleeding profusely, was something he wasn't exactly ready for.<p>

"Oh my g... okay... calm. Don't go into shock. You can do this, you know basic first aid... just... get a bandage ready."

He continued to talk to himself while he rummaged in his pack for something, anything, to use to wrap the wound with before giving up and ripping the rest of that pant leg off, separating a three-inch by thirty-inch strip to tie his leg with, before shoving the rest into his backpack again.  
>"Okay, bandage ready... stimpack first. The pull it out..."<p>

He injected one of his two steroid-and-chem (he knew there was an antiseptic, a coagulant, and several other useful medicines, but was unsure of the specifics) surrette into his leg, two inches from the hole, before he wrapped one hand around the sting and yanked it out with a wince.

_Of course it had to be barbed, right?_

But at least it didn't appear to be venomous, whatever it was, because the blood was still bright red and flowing cleanly.

_Not that _that's_ a good sign... shit, that hurts..._

"No. Focus, damn it, Duncan! You're better than this! Are you gonna let some stupid giant fly bring you down, make you cry? No! Get up, fight on!"

His self-administered pep-talk was just enough to allow him to ignore the pain and wrap the ruins of the vault-suit around the hole in his leg. Tight enough to help with the bleeding, but not too tight. It wouldn't due to cut off circulation.

But when Duncan stood at last, testing his weight on the injured leg successfully, he started to limp over to the fly-thing to finish it off.

Unfortunately, he'd already been beaten to that by two more of the things.

This time, though, he was better prepared. Before either of them had noticed him moving, he'd drawn the pistol once more and fired off two shots at the closer of the pair.

The first, again, missed, but the second... just clicked.  
>He pulled the trigger again, then again, but nothing.<p>

Empty.

"Oh shit!"  
>Duncan dived back behind the stump, fumbling in his pack for more ammunition, praying he would have a chance to slam another clip into the gun before he was pierced somewhere vital.<p>

Two more stingers had embedded themselves in the stump before he figured out he was trying to load the new clip backwards.

Once he'd gotten it in and flipped the safety back off, Duncan had calmed down considerably... or at least, he was no longer afraid. Instead, he was filled with (he hoped righteous) anger.

He was growling and glaring when he cleared the stump again.  
>The flies were closer, half as far as they had been before.<br>His second bullet tore through the closer creature's abdomen, causing it to explode in a spray of white-green goo and flesh.

When the third creature rose higher and began to flex it's abdomen in preparation for a sting-throw, Duncan pulled the trigger again.

This time, it only took one bullet. Right through the center of it's head, between the great, blue-green faceted eyes (as large as his palm, it seemed).

Panting with shock and adrenaline, Duncan stood quietly for a few seconds aside from his breathing and head as he frantically looked around for another threat.

When he didn't find one, he holstered the pistol and walked over to the three creatures, which were grouped together, since the later two had apparently begun to attack and eat the wounded first one. It was now still, several pieces of it missing.

"Well damn. Giant flies. I guess the crazy scientists were right... what else has mutated, then?"

Not knowing what else to do with them, but thinking he might be able to get a reward for killing mutant bugs or something, Duncan tied them together with the longer length of his former pant leg, attaching the whole thing to his backpack so that it swung behind him from the frame.  
>It made walking annoying, and continually screwed up his balance, but there was <em>no<em> way he was putting the goo-leaking messes inside his pack. Just... no.

Fortunately, he remembered to take out the clip and insert two more of the newer bullets before leaving. He wouldn't be caught empty again, not if he could help it.

"Well, Duncan, that's three fights for your life and two people dying you've seen since you crawled out from your hole. The bear-things, when Robert died. The zombies. That scientist killed by _food_ of all things, and now these giant flies. I think you'll get on _just fine_ in the Wasteland. Heh..."

It didn't escape his notice that he was sounding just a little hysterical as he talked to himself.

Still, one foot in front of the other.

_Keep on walkin'._

(O)(O)(O)

An experienced traveler in the Wasteland might have known that Duncan was rapidly approaching the settlement known as Arefu, a day after he'd turned to follow the Potomac east in it's path. Duncan knew that he was near Seneca Heights, or at least the ruins of it, because he'd taken a girl on a date to the outdoor movie there, on his one and only date.

Looking back now, Duncan shuddered with horror. She'd been someone he'd known for all of two hours, a rather ugly girl with a personality to match. He'd only gone because his parents had set it up with hers (and driven with him to the movie, since he was far too young to drive himself) as chaperones... not that he'd have touched her.  
><em>'course, there wasn't any 'good-n<em>_ight kiss' or anything. I couldn't stand that girl. Whatever her name was._

In fact, however, Duncan only recognized the area by the ruins of the monorail tracks high above him, some of which still stretched across the river, who's bank he was walking alongside, while he idly wondered if there would be anything useful in the train itself, which had apparently fallen from the track during the war or the years after.

"But then I'd have to go digging through bodies... and I'm not sure I can do that. Still... well, I guess it's probably already been cleaned out. Scavengers and all, looking for anything of value is common in any post-disaster society, right?"

He shrugged, it was worth checking anyway. After all, what was he if not a scavenger himself? The corpses of three giant flies swinging behind him and smelling up the place was proof of that.

The young man was approaching the engine of the monorail from the west side as it faced north-west (and getting a good view of the train's undercarriage, since it was on it's side), when he heard a low growl.

He froze, then crouched down a moment later.

Heavy, raspy, gurgling breathing was the only sound aside from the light wind in the rocks, and the ripples of water slowly flowing by.

_Thud_.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Thud._

_Drip.  
>Thud.<br>Drip._

Whatever it was, it was shaking the ground around him enough for him to feel it through his vault shoes. The dripping was also loud, and seemed to get worse on every other whuffing sound, like... like ruptured lungs. Whatever it was was bleeding badly, likely moments from death.  
>If he could just stay quiet, stay still, stay undetected long enough, the threat would pass.<p>

Right?

Of course, Duncan had no such luck.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._  
>No thuds. <em>Oh crap, that can't be good.<em>

Just as the survivor of the pre-war world decided he'd have to run for it, a bellowing, shaking roar rattled the windows of the train he was crouching behind, and made the hair on his neck stand up.

It sounded almost like a lion or tiger, but not at all feline. Whatever it was was _not_ a cat, but larger, more dangerous, than any he'd seen in the zoo.

_Thud._

_Drip._

_Thud._

A yellow-brown snout, dripping red blood rapidly, cleared the front of the engine, a half-second before a horn did.

Just afterwards, while Duncan's eyes widened in terror and his breath seemed to stick in his throat, while the shattered stump of a second horn on the beast's left side made itself visible, along with great, sharp, bloody teeth longer than his arm, lining a jaw large enough to engulf his torso whole.

And the hand... one bloody stump, and one hand with fingers so long... longer than his arm.

But the claws...

The claws on that thing would go right through him _sideways_, and still have inches to stick out the other side.

"Oh... shit..." he breathed.

The beast lumbered slowly, obviously limping as it did, around the side of the train.

Blood poured from it's ruined right arm, missing from the elbow down, one eye was ripped away by what looked like a shotgun blast at close range on the same side as the missing horn, and one kneecap was clearly heavily damaged, but the torso of the thing was the worst.

The red ichor flowing from it's mouth was likely from that injury, since it had nine ribs showing, and multiple organs pulsing out the thing's life-blood all over the ground.

It snuffled, and the head swiveled towards him.

_It smells me..._

_Or it smells the flies._

_Oh crap, that was a bad idea..._

Slowly, hoping it wouldn't be able to see the movement with it's one eye, and him in the shadows of the train, Duncan drew his pistol, knowing it was likely useless. If whatever it was was up and walking around as damaged as it was, it was far beyond his little gun.

_Thud._

It took a step towards him, and Duncan began to pull the trigger for all he was worth.

Twelve rounds, ten of the normal (if newer), and two armor-piercing bullets, tore into the creature's chest. It shuddered and jerked with each one, and once his gun started clicking again, it was standing still, swaying.  
>The gurgling in it's lungs was worse.<p>

But then it took another step forward.

_Thud._

"Hell no... no... no way..."

The pistol fell from limp fingers.

"It can't end like this..."

It stopped clattering a few feet away.

"I can't... how tough _is_ this thing?"

It was near enough now to swing at him.  
>The one good arm raised up, and Duncan got a view, for just a moment, of a sight very few lived to talk about.<p>

A Deathclaw's hand, raised to tear him to pieces.

Nerves kicked back in.

He ducked and rolled, wincing again as his already-wounded leg struck a rock on his way by, and the claw buried itself several inches into the steel of the train with a screech.  
>It bellowed, but he was still moving.<p>

His left hand reached behind him, grasped one of the drawstrings, and pulled.  
>His right was already underneath, waiting to catch the handle of the laser rifle as it fell.<p>

As soon as he felt it's weight, his arm swung up, the gun braced against his shoulder and with his left hand a moment later.

"You'd better have power," he said to the high-tech weapon, "or we're both goners."

The beast before him struggled to wrench it's hand free, doing so just as he pulled the trigger.

There was no recoil, not even much sound.

Just a slight hum, and a loud hiss as the air was vaporized into red-hot plasma by the beam of energy that flashed from the rifle's emitter.

The first beam struck the thing's right hip, leaving a black, smoking whole.  
>It screamed in pain again, and turned toward him.<br>Duncan watched as it gathered itself for a lunge.

_Just like the pistol.  
>Sight, Exhale, Trigger.<em>

The second bolt of energy struck it it's healthy right eye, making it explode with sudden heat.

For a moment, the thing wavered on it's feet still, and then fell with a resounding crash of bone and flesh on rock.

It didn't get up.

After several tense minutes, Duncan exhaled loudly, "Fuck me. And that's all I gotta say about that."

There was a new sound, now, though.

Once the monster's heavy breathing had fallen still, he could just make out a sad, almost pathetic-sounding mewling.

Laser rifle raised to his shoulder due to his ever-increasing paranoia, Duncan stepped around the front of the train.  
>There, between the engine and two other cars, was a small nest of six eggs, each of which was bigger again than his head.<br>Three were cracked open and empty, one of which had a tiny, clawed body lying lifeless nearby. It had apparently not survived.

But the other three were intact.

_They would grow into those... those things. I should kill them now, while they're vulnerable._

He stepped forward, skirting the body of a traveler who looked recently-dead as he did so, before scooping each of the three eggs, one of which was already twitching, into his arms.

"Sorry, kids, you're going to go for a swim. I heard drowning works well on cats, I guess it'll work well on you, too."

His arms were tired, and his limp was worse, when he made it to the river bank and tossed the three eggs inside.

One began to sink at once, tiny bubbles rising from it, but the other pair began to bob and float downriver, swept along by the current.

He didn't dare follow, not with the radiation in the water, which was still silty and green.

"Maybe the rads'll kill you before the water does. Not sure which is an easier death."

He shrugged after a moment of watching the pair move down-river and turned back.

The traveler might have had identification of some kind, something to tell any family, if he ever saw them, he was dead.

Except the he was a she.

A woman of perhaps twenty-five, with a lightly-lined face (more from laughing than frowning, if he was any judge), light, sandy-blonde hair, and green eyes.

Or she had been, before one of those eyes was gouged out by a claw still embedded in it, broken off the creature's finger, no doubt.

There was also four raking lines across her stomach, which had spilled several of her organs onto the rocks, and rendered the thick leather jacket she wore like armor useless.

"Damn... well, I guess I better see what your name is."

He took a breath to steel himself, then rolled her over with his boot. She wasn't even stiff.

"Recently dead. I didn't hear any gunshots, though, so the timing was pretty narrow, I guess. Or I was in my own little world for a while... maybe I am in shock after all."

"You know," a different, deeper, masculine voice said calmly from several feet to the south and uphill, "it's a sign of insanity, talking to yourself."

Duncan jumped and spun, swiveling the laser rifle up to his shoulder as he did so.  
>The man on the ridge raised both hands, "Hold on, there, kiddo, I'm no threat to ya. Just lookin' around. I'm gonna come down there, and we can talk all peaceful-like, all right? Nobody's gonna need to shoot anybody."<p>

Duncan didn't react.

After a moment, the man pointed to his right, Duncan's left, and said, "Look, kid, if I wanted you dead, my guard would've already blown a hole in your head for pointing that thing at me. I just wanna talk, that's all."

Reluctantly, Duncan looked over atop the train engine.  
>Twenty feet away from him, a hard-looking woman with blonde hair and wearing what looked like steel-plate and -spiked armor was holding a sniper rifle, pointed directly between his eyes.<p>

He gulped.  
>Slowly, the laser rifle lowered.<br>"Right, see, that wasn't so bad," the man said, "Come on down, Sally. No use scarin' the boy. Name's Harith, kid, Lucky Harith. You can call me Lucky, or Harith, or even Bob, I don't much mind either way."

As the older man picked his way gingerly down the rocks, Duncan noticed his back was hunched slightly, though he seemed spry regardless.

"Duncan," he said eventually, when the weathered-looking man stopped a few feet away, smiling gently.

"Ah, it's a pleasure to meet you, Duncan. As I said, I'm Lucky Harith. My guard's Sally, no last name."

He nodded, but said nothing aside from twitching his eyes in her direction for a moment.

The rifle was in her hands still, but it was pointed outwards, away from him now, as she scanned the area like a professional.

"You kill that deathclaw by yourself, kid?"

Duncan shook his head, "No... looks like this lady did most of the work. It was missing an arm and most of a leg, huge hole in it's chest, when I got here. I just finished it off. Almost finished _me_ off."

Harith nodded, looking solemn, "Yeah, 'claws'll do that. Best just to steer clear if you can... 'less you got the firepower to take 'em down quick. I can help with that, if you want."

Duncan looked up, "What do you mean?"

Harith pointed up the ridge, "I'm a trader, make my living buying, selling, and trading weapons and ammunition around the Capitol Wasteland. I got a pack-brahmin up there with my goods, if you wanna make a trade."

The young man hesitated.  
>What did he have to trade? The power-armor wearing man had mentioned trade goods. Would the books really work? What about the food? Was it even worth anything?<p>

"You look a mite confused. Listen, how about I help you clean up this little fiasco, give this woman a proper burial and all, and then we can go talk by my brahmin. There's a little camp-site me and the other caravans use when we pass by here we can rest at."

After a moment, Duncan nodded. What did he have to lose, anyway? If worst came to worst, he'd just have to walk away if the man didn't want anything he had.

He was still a little surprised when, on top of the double-barreled shotgun and sixteen twelve-gauge-rounds he'd found on the woman, Harith also handed him his own pistol, a roll of paper with a lot of writing and drawings on it, and the hand of the deathclaw itself.  
>"What- what're these for?"<p>

Harith shrugged, "Your kill, right? Law of the Wastes, you kill it, it's yours. I didn't have a chance to help with the 'claw, and the woman's dead, so it's yours now. Wouldn't feel right if I took any of it."

"Okay... but I mean, what're they _for_? Like, why would I want to carry the hand? And for that matter, what can I get for three giant fly bodies?"

"Bloatflies?"

Duncan shrugged, "I don't know what they're called. Just three big-ass flies that shot shit at me from their asses."

Harith chuckled, "Yep, Bloatflies. You got three, you say?"

Duncan nodded, "Yeah. Why, you buy trophies or pay for killing them or something, too?"

Harith shook his head, "No, but the meat's not bad. I'll buy 'em from ya, or trade, at least, if you haven't got any caps."  
>The young man frowned, "Caps? Like... like bottle-caps?"<br>Harith nodded, "'course. You gotta be from a Vault, huh? New... well, new-ish, suit, don't know what caps are... they're money around here, kid. You can try trading that pre-war stuff, and most merchants will take it in lieu of actual caps, but it's not exactly worth what it used to be, you know? Fact is, most times, that shit's not good for much but wiping the shit from your ass. Best thing for it, really, which is the only reason it's worth anything now."

Duncan paled.

His mother had had four hundred dollars in her pack, most of their savings, and he had that. And it was only good for _toilet paper_ now?

"Hey, don't worry about it, kid. I'm an honest trader, and I can't make a living by lying to folks. Come on, I'll get you a bit for the flies. Might buy the hand if you don't want it, but looking at those plans I handed you, you might wanna keep it."

Duncan blinked and started following the self-professed trader up the side of the ravine, struggling to open the large roll of paper while keeping a grip on the shotgun, the claw, and the paper itself. The pistol had already been loaded and returned to it's holster.

"Uh... Mr. Harith, what- what exactly _is_ this? I mean, I get that it's a design, but... but it looks like some kind of weapon!"

The female guard, Sally, laughed, "It _is_ a weapon, kid. One of the best if you like gettin' all up-close and personal with your enemies. Really... I saw the gouge that 'claw put in the train. If you got any strength in you, a thing like that weapon there will go right through my armor like paper. And what it'll do to the flesh behind it? Well... you saw that traveler, right?"

Duncan gulped and nodded, "Y- yeah. So... so this is just a way to make this claw I got useful?"

Harith nodded, "Yep. Mind you, it takes a few things, as the paper says. You gotta have a brace to hold it to your arm, the claw itself, and some glue to get the two to stick, some other minor details. Screws and stuff to really hold it together, maybe some spare parts if you want the fingers to flex and bend... I saw one guy who had one, he was so good with it he could play cards with the claw. Never took the thing off, scared his buddies, who were all damned cheats, into playin' straight with him, though."

Sally laughed, but Duncan only stared wide-eyed.

He'd been curious what the trader had meant by 'pack-brahmin'.  
>Now he knew.<br>It was a cow... sort of.

Cows didn't normally have two heads and extra horns around their faces.

Still, the beast of burden seemed docile enough. Harith and Sally both walked right up next to it, the former opening one of the large bags on it's side, and the latter taking up a position near it's heads, still scanning the area for threats.

"Come on, kid," Harith said, "Let's see what I've got that you need."

When Duncan had stepped over to the trader's side and looked into the large pack, his eyes went wider still.

"Holy shit!" he whispered, "That's a lot of guns!"  
>Harith grinned, "I know! Best collection in the Capitol Wasteland, if I do say so myself. I got enough here to kit a small army, all 'cause of this hero from a few years back. She donated quite a bit to me back then, let me raise my quality <em>and<em> selection quite a bit. Let me know if you see anything you like. We can work something out. Don't forget to look in the other side, too. The middle pack's not for sale."

Duncan nodded, and then for the next few minutes, was in gun-nut heaven (not that he was one, mind).

Everything from antique (now) Chinese pistols, to 9- and 10-millimeters, a 10mm sub-machine gun, nine hunting rifles of various sizes, one of the tried-and-true FN-FAL's, commonly known in his grandfather's time as the venerable AK-47, several _grenades_, and... and...

Every fourteen-year-old-boy's wet dream.

Two.

Missile launchers.

"Uh... I hate to ask, Mr. Harith, but-"

"Just Harith, kid, or Lucky. Mr. Harith was my dad, see."  
>Duncan nodded, "Yes, sir. Anyway, these missile launchers. What would you trade those for?"<p>

Harith shrugged, "Not too pricey. Valuable, but they're not in the best shape. They'll fire, but one's got a missing site, and the other's really dirty, especially in the barrel. I haven't had a chance to clean 'em up properly. I could let you have both for maybe a hundred-thirty caps. You might be able to fix 'em up yourself, they aren't that complicated."

Duncan's eyes widened. Was military-grade hardware that common?

"Damn, I can _almost_ afford that. This guy in power armor gave me some caps, and I found some later... but it's not quite that much."

Harith shrugged again, "Not like you don't have more, though. There's the flies, the claw if you don't want it, I'd even buy the plans. Those always sell good, and I can make a gauntlet from the claw. 'Course, that nine-mil you carry's worth a bit too, good condition. And don't even get me started on your laser rifle. That's worth more'n twenty of these launchers, at least in bad shape like these."

Duncan's eyes widened again. "R- really?"

Harith nodded, "Yep. Now, I'm always- _always_- tellin' people that a safe society is an armed society. Guns keep people safe, and I like to see people safe... so they should always have lots of guns. But it's my experience that not everyone needs a _lot_ of guns, you know? Just a lot. So if you want to unload your high-quality merchandise, I can give you a few different kinds of less-expensive kit, and you can have a lot without having a _lot_, you get my drift?"

Duncan shook his head.

Sally laughed again from nearby, "Damn it, Lucky, I can't understand to this day how you can bullshit like that and still turn a profit. By rights, you oughta scare off every damned customer!"

Harith laughed along with her, "Maybe, maybe. Still, kid, you just find things you like. We'll work out the details later, right?"

Duncan nodded, debating for a moment...

Before his childish side won out.

I mean...

_Two._

_Rocket launchers._

And he had missiles! Two of them!

He was gonna enjoy this... eventually.

"All right, kid, so you're getting the missile launchers, both of 'em, a mid-grade hunting rifle, the two missiles, some .32 ammo for the rifle. I'm getting a lot of toilet-paper, the three flies, the plans for the guantlet, and the claw itself. Sound fair enough? Oh, yeah, and I owe you three caps to make it square."

Duncan shrugged, "I guess. Sounds good to me."  
>Harith stuck out his hand, and they shook. A few minutes later, the promised items had been traded between them.<p>

Harith spent a few hours as night fell showing Duncan what he'd need to do to repair the sights on the first launcher with the sight from the bad-barreled one. It was something he was looking forward to; not just for working with his hands, which he enjoyed, but because they were _heavy_, and once he got the part switched, he'd be able to drop the useless parts off and lighten his load.

The next morning, Harith pointed Duncan toward the nearest overpass, a few miles away, "That's Arefu, there. You wanna keep followin' the river, but when you see a boat washed up, go around south of it a ways. There's mirelurks nesting in there, and you don't wanna get close to 'em unless you want to waste all your new ammo. Hope you find your friend, kid. It was a pleasure doin' business with you. Don't die out there!"

Duncan nodded and waved, smiling, "You too, Harith! See you, Sally! Be safe!"

But before he left, Harith called out, "Hey, kid, you sure I can't convince you to part with the pistol or the laser rifle? It'd be worth a lot to me, either one."

Duncan shook his head, "Sorry, Harith- maybe next time. The gun's a... well, it was my dad's. The laser rifle saved my ass, and I think I want to keep it for a while."

Lucky shrugged and nodded, "Guess I can understand that. Take care of yourself, kid. See you 'round."

The younger man nodded, then turned, hefting his much-heavier pack onto his back, and started walking east again.

"Huh," he mused to himself an hour later, "I wonder if I should have asked them if there was a way to get holsters for all this stuff..."

**A/N2:** Well, for those that it wasn't already painfully clear to- He's a kid (of 14 emotionally, though he's rapidly adjusting to adult hormones since he basically skipped puberty through a medical coma/stasis) who was thrown into a whole new, much deadlier, world than before. This? It's basic training. First, a (minor, nearly no-threat) encounter that leads to big things later- that's a plot point you'll have to wait for, though, but one of my bigger, overarching things, specifically about Duncan's development as a Wastelander and adult- then a low-threat fight against clear antagonists (the flies attacked first), which was his first 'real' fight. And of course, the introduction to what most consider the Wasteland's most dangerous creature, Deathclaws. Even wounded heavily (as they are in that set encounter), they can still rip you to shreds if you aren't careful.  
>Lastly, of course, meeting someone who will become (related to the first major plot point I mentioned) a major character down the road, though not a main one.<p>

Anyway- Sally's the blonde guard Harith has in FO3 (She's not named, but I figured most people have common names, just like irl). They're both aged 9.5 years from FO3's ending, but otherwise unchanged- and of course, _yes_, the Lone Wanderer from Vault 101 (remember, a female, who chose to sacrifice herself for Project Purity) donated all the money to fully upgrade all four of the Caravans. This will become important later, which is why I'm making sure it's said now.

Most of the other guards, though, are not important, so won't be getting names. Maybe.  
>Next chapter's hint: Duncan swears when he's mad... and while he knows the town's name, he never reads the sign above it.<p> 


	4. Chapter 3: Arefu F U

**A/N:** Thank my Beta (Cyberweasel89) for the back-to-back-ish chapters- both for the delay (perfectly understandable with moving) in the last chapter, and getting these two back to me in short order despite the larger amount of work involved. :)  
>Anyway, I'm looking for people's opinions on the whole 'ten years later' thing and the changes that are or have come about because of that, so keep that in mind as you read the chapter (and all after this, too!), and please review about it so I can actually learn what you think. :)<br>Enjoy!

**Chap. 3 Arefu F. U.**

Shortly after leaving Lucky Harith and Sally behind, since their paths were taking them in opposite directions, Duncan came across a second fenced-in outpost. The men walking around the barbed-wire fence (he counted ten, easily) were wearing power armor with the same gear-and-sword enclosed by wings insignia his rescuers had been. As he approached the fence, one of the guards called out, "Hold it right there, man. Take more than a couple more steps in this direction, and we've got orders to fire."

Duncan stopped immediately, raising his empty hands, "All right, don't shoot. I'm not looking for any trouble, I just need to get to Arefu."

The soldier nodded in his power armor, "Safest way's to go to the south around the fence. Remember, stay twenty feet back or we'll open fire."

Duncan agreed at once. He had one laser rifle, but they had several, plus power armor, _and_ were trained soldiers, where he was just a kid. A teenager, no matter how much older his body looked. "All right. Sounds good. Thanks. Uh... what is this place, anyway?"

As the external speaker crackled to life for the soldier's response, Duncan saw a gigantic spark of energy flash between two of the lines above, and a yell from inside the compound, "No, it's no good! Shut it off before it sparks again! We need more insulation!"

"This is the Brotherhood of Steel's Relay Outpost One. It's strictly off-limits to civilians, so you should probably just keep going, local."

"Uh, all right," Duncan said, and obeyed.  
>As he walked, though, he couldn't help but keep an eye on the place as he passed by. There was old graffiti covering several walls, but much of the old, rusted equipment had been replaced by new parts.<br>Whatever it was- a power station, maybe- it looked like the Brotherhood was rebuilding it.

As he walked, and walked, and walked, Duncan felt the reality of his situation sink in just a little more.

His world?  
>It was gone, had been for... for a long time.<br>Family, friends (aside from maybe Amber, if he could call her that), his home, everything he owned, loved... gone.

And in it's place?  
>Hot, dry sand and rocks. A scorching sun, when it pierced the sullen gray clouds that seemed to cover the sky in a uniform blanket of background radiation and water vapor.<p>

Oh, and the monsters. He couldn't forget those.

The zombies, the giant flies that shot six-inch, wasp-like stingers.

And the Deathclaw he'd finished off, of course.  
>A <em>real<em> monster if he ever imagined one.

Of course, that wasn't all his new reality was.

Now, with every step, Duncan came to understand his new reality had to do more with blisters on his feet (though his boots fit well enough, he had absolutely zero callouses on his body, even if he was sure to after this), the ache in his joints and muscles from so many years of no activity, muscle being utterly unused to exercise of any kind.

And, of course, the ninety-plus pounds of gear, including the missile launcher, strapped to his back.  
>Which lead, in turn, to the straps themselves digging into his shoulders with every jarring step. The annoying jangle the objects made as their momentum was forced to shift. Up, down, up, down. Jingle-jangle.<p>

Step, step, step.

_What a crock of shit this is turning out to be.__ Safe, enjoyable life my ass, Vault-Tec! Seventeen thousand dollars, everything my dad went to prison for, and _this_ is what your services were worth? I sure as hell hope your private vault failed too._

But, truth be told, even the pain of losing his mother, father, and sister to nuclear war, falling concrete, or whatever else had befallen them, were fading rapidly into a haze of grief and agony, undefinable by any specific problem.

The only things that really got to him for the next day and a half as he walked was the pain each step brought all over his body, and the constant fear that he'd be attacked again by something new, something unusual, something he wasn't ready for, couldn't handle.  
>Something that would kill him.<p>

Duncan Maddox had never been particularly afraid of death, you see.  
>One might even consider that natural for a (mentally and emotionally) fourteen-year-old boy. But even as a child, he had been a bit of a daredevil, carelessly risking life, or at least serious injury, for a bit of a thrill.<p>

Now, though?

He found his outlook changing.

Because, death? Well, instead of an abstract "it won't happen to _me_" concept... it was real. It had touched him, embraced him, taken everything from him.

His whole world, both literally and figuratively.

Duncan shuddered, but kept walking.

He wouldn't stop until death came for him itself.

Maybe he'd even give death a black eye on the way out. Or a missile in the face. One of those.

(O)(O)(O)

Distracted by the pain of putting one foot in front of the other, of losing everything, of watching the small hope he had of finding Amber in the settlement ahead, Duncan had forgotten the trader's advice about the ship halfway out of the Potomac.

In fact, he didn't even notice that ship until a strange clacking noise reverberated around the rocks he found himself between.

_What was that?_

It wasn't a Deathclaw, he'd be able to hear it's breathing. Likely one of the bear-things too.

But whatever it was was big, because he could still hear it thumping into the soft sand that once graced the bed of the river, back when the Potomac was hundreds of feet across instead of dozens.  
>Just a few days ago, to him.<p>

The clacking came again, and a claw came around the corner of the boat.  
>At first, Duncan tensed. It was. A Deathclaw, unwounded, at this range? He was <em>so<em> dead.

But the claw didn't fit the one he'd seen before.

No, this looked like... a crab or a lobster's?  
>But hideously, monstrously, over-sized. It would probably cut off his leg if it caught it.<p>

The rest of the creature stepped into view, and he watched the smaller claws lining the beast's mouth clatter, the same sound he'd heard before, and strange eyes that should have been on stalks, not recessed deep under it's head, blinked (sideways) at him.  
>It clattered again, and both claws raised menacingly.<p>

_Crap... one damned thing after another! What's _this_ monster called? Is there just like, a house cat? Normal dogs? Horses? Does _anything_ exist that hasn't been mutated?_

Survival instinct, and newly-born but rapidly-growing paranoia brought his 9mm up quickly.

_Line up the sites. There'll be kick, so aim a bit lower. Exhale. Pull the trigger._  
>But the first, second, and third shots, from twelve, ten, and six feet away as the thing came closer and closer with a strange, loping run, all bounced off the thing's shell, not doing any appreciable damage.<p>

_Oh. Crap._

The first swipe of claws ripped a hole across the chest of his vault suit, but thankfully, did nothing but raise a welt on his flesh.  
>Unfortunately, the return swing caught Duncan across the jaw, sending him backwards into the water a few feet away.<p>

He rose, coughing and gagging at the taste of radiation and silt, before he remembered why he was in the river in the first place.

Instinct guided him to dive to the left, and the monster's left claw buried itself in the sand where his hand had been a moment later.  
>Still wiping water from his eyes, Duncan saw it flick the mud and silt from the claw before turning toward him, hissing and clattering as it did so, and charge again.<p>

For the first time in his life, Duncan actually ran from a fight.

But the thing was relentless.  
>No matter how he circled or dodged around rocks, climbed up onto a taller spire of them, or even threw smaller rocks to distract it with noise, it was always right behind him, a moment or two at most from ripping him to shreds.<p>

However, as he ran, adrenaline brought Duncan's mind to focus, sharper than it had been since his encounter with the Deathclaw.

_Small rounds don't work. But I have missiles. Still, I don't know if I can hit it. If I just get close, it probably won't hurt it through that thick shell. I gotta have something... something small, that can fit between the joints of armor. Like... a laser._

Ducking behind the rusted metal of the boat (and Duncan only idly noted through his adrenalin that he'd run in a circle) to buy himself more time, he reached back and unclasped the laser rifle as he'd done against the Deathclaw, bringing it to bear around the edge of the rusted tub of metal.

Just as the head cleared the side, from five feet away, Duncan fired.

With a sharp _whizz_ sound, the rifle discharged it's beam of red energy straight at it's head...

and the beam literally bounced off, shooting high into the sky.

"You're kidding," he whispered, then shouted, "You've got to be fucking kidding me! Why won't you _die_?"

But as the monster loomed closer, and five feet became two, it's claws raised again, both of them this time.

Duncan had had quite enough, though, and began pulling the trigger wildly, as fast as he could. Maybe, just maybe, he could melt the shell and get a telling blow?

That wasn't the case, however.

One shot of the dozen he loosed before his death claimed him encountered the soft flesh of the beast's eye.  
>It popped with a loud hiss, and the creature shrieked in pain, recoiling.<p>

Before Duncan could realize what he'd done, before he even stopped blasting it wildly, it had fallen backwards, dead, onto the shore of the river.

"Bang. Head shot..." he muttered, before falling to his knees.  
>A moment later, he was sprawled across the monster, panting to tame his breathing and get his body back under control.<p>

(O)(O)(O)

The danger he'd experienced a few minutes earlier was rewarded when Duncan found the energy to drag his shaking limbs up and start moving again. The far side of the boat, where the thing had been lurking before he'd seen it, was half-buried in the muck of the shore, and he was able to scramble on board, even feeling weak as he was. The ship wasn't large, just a small personal pleasure boat, but it did have a few suitcases with clothing inside- much weathered by the passage of time- and three ammo cases, each shut securely.

Duncan's eyes widened when he realized what prize he'd just earned.  
>Each of the three boxes contained two missiles, of the exact size and kind he needed for his missile launchers.<p>

That brought him up to eight... maybe he could actually risk using the thing, instead of always saving it for a rainy day?

After he'd gathered them up, stowed them, and forced himself to eat some of the canned ham... or... well, vaguely-ham-like substance... in his pack for lunch, his eyes turned east again, and then up.

Had he really covered that much ground in a daze?

He was right below the overpass. And he could hear... people!  
>Not soldiers, not monsters or zombies...<p>

Real, live _people_! And... and they were celebrating something, by the sound of it!

Duncan suddenly began to run, south up the riverbank, past a few small, ramshackle houses, then a few that looked like they might not blow over in a stiff wind, and just before reaching the bottom of a crumbling overpass, one sturdy-looking house actually made of _bricks_. Mind, not matching bricks, but a much stronger building than he'd seen built recently, that was for sure. At least, outside of the Brotherhood and their mysterious grasp of what- to him- was contemporary techniques.

"Hold on there," a bossy-sounding woman called.

Going by his experience with the Brotherhood, and the stern tone of the woman speaking, it was likely that if he didn't obey, he'd be shot.  
>Duncan wisely chose to listen.<p>

The girl- well, young woman- who stepped out of the brick building he was passing was pretty enough, in a weathered sort of way, but her demeanor left a lot to be desired, Duncan thought.  
>She was scowling, and the lines around her mouth and eyes suggested she did that a lot.<br>Worse was the pink dress. He hated pink.

The thing he liked least, though, was the shotgun aimed between his eyes, though she only held it at her hip, as the woman walked closer.  
>"Don't know you. Why'd you come here?"<p>

"Uh... I'm Duncan. I'm just here looking for a friend of mine. Is this Arefu?"

"Was when I went to bed last night. Well, this morning. I guess you can come into town, but let me make something _really_ clear, okay? I'm gonna be watching you, Duncan. You make trouble, and MacReady and I will mess your shit up. We clear?"

"Uh... yes ma'am?"

The woman in the pink dress shuddered, but allowed the gun to fall to his feet, "Shit! Don't call me that! I'm not old yet, even if I did get kicked out years ago! Listen, I gotta get up to the party. MacReady and I are just in town for a couple hours, then we gotta head back home before it gets dark. You behave yourself, 'cause I'm gonna be spreading the word to Biwwy and the old man, too."

Duncan nodded, "Yes ma- er... whoever you are."

She snorted, "My name's Princess. And if you ask why I'm called that, I'm gonna shoot you anyway."

"Er... okay. What about, uh... Biwwy? Is that really his name?"

She nodded, "Is now. His parents named him Billy, I guess, but he can't say it right, so we all just called him Biwwy like he said it. Now it's too late to change, and he doesn't even want to."

Duncan shrugged, "Okay. Whatever, I guess. So... like I said, I'm looking for one of my friends. A girl- well, a young woman or teenager, I guess, named Amber. She might have passed through here, she was with a Brotherhood of Steel patrol when I last heard news about her. That was a couple days ago, though."

The woman, Princess, shook her head. "Couldn't say. Me and MacReady got into town really late last night, and I haven't even left the guard shack 'till now. You're gonna have to find your girlfriend without me, kid."

This made Duncan frown, but not for reasons he could identify, "She's not my girlfriend."

Princess snorted as she started to walk, throwing the shotgun over her back by it's strap, "If she's a girl and she's your friend, then she's a girl friend, right?"

Something about her logic, while accurate enough, just didn't seem right to Duncan, but he couldn't figure out what it was before she'd led him past several other nicer buildings on their way up to the top of the overpass.

(O)(O)(O)

The man Princess had directed Duncan to, a stocky, thick-set boy who looked tough enough to trounce a Deathclaw bare-handed if he had to, frowned, "Sorry, kid," he said, "but I've got no news for you. The girl you described doesn't even sound a little familiar. I ain't seen a vault suit like yours in almost ten years, and the one I saw was 101, not 100."

Duncan's face and shoulders fell slightly, "Okay. Thanks, Mr. MacReady. If you see her though, will you let her know I've been looking for her? I don't know where, but I'm gonna set up a... well, a house or something, somewhere, so she has a place to find me."

The big man shook his head and unfolded his arms to wave Duncan away, "It's just MacReady, not 'Mister' anything. I might be a Mungo, but I ain't an old man. Look, I'll keep my eyes open, but I ain't promisin' anything. Even if she really is with a Brotherhood patrol, like you said, the Wastes are still a damned dangerous place to be. You might just have to get used to the idea of never seeing your girlfriend again."

Again, Duncan scowled. "Why does everyone assume she's my girlfriend? I barely know her, but she's... she's the only person I know from where I come from, that's all."

A taller, black boy who'd been behind MacReady talking to Princess turned around to respond to Duncan. Only then did he notice the tall young man was wearing a party hat. It must have been his birthday?

"Hey, Kid, don't give MacReady any shit, all right? He knows what he's talkin' about. Maybe this girl is your girlfriend, maybe she ain't, but if he says she's probably dead, she probably is. Only met two Vault Dwellers in my life who could take it out here in the Wastes, and one went to hide in a big city after a while, the other one's dead all the same."

Again, Duncan frowned, but this time his attention was directed to the other man, who despite his own (effective) growth spurt, still towered above him by several inches. "Look, man, I know you think I'm soft and all that shit, but I'm tougher than I look. If I survived, Amber will survive. She's smart, really smart, and not dumb enough to pick fights she can't win."

This time, several other people, including Princess, turned their attention to the growing argument. A pretty young black woman in her low twenties, who looked a lot like the taller one, said in a low, would-be threatening voice, "The Wastes sometimes pick a fight with _you_, Vaultie. What's your girlfriend's smarty-pants self gonna do if a Yao-guai or a squad of Muties or a Deathclaw come after her? No one escapes that. Not unless they're the damned Lone Wanderer herself. Or a whole squad of Brotherhood."

The entire crowd started nodding, obviously agreeing with the younger member.

From behind Duncan, a much older-sounding voice called out, "Hey, you kids! Knock it off and calm down. The kid there doesn't know what he's talking about, does he? Just leave 'im alone."

Princess immediately called over Duncan's shoulder, "Shut up, King! You ain't the mayor here any more, are ya? You got no say in this."

Despite the shotgun-toting woman and the older man's continued and escalating argument (each of course trying to get the other to see 'reason'), it was Duncan who was suddenly carrying the weight of several sets of now-hostile eyes on him.

"You got some pretty good gear for a Vaultie. That laser rifle looks almost new."

Duncan wasn't sure who'd spoken, there were too many people pressed in around him now to discern any but the few voices he'd already heard clearly, since everyone was whispering to themselves at once.

He did, however, hear someone whisper to their neighbor, "Kid's dead anyway. Shouldn't we just take the gear for ourselves? Shame to let that rifle or the missile launcher go to waste."

As quickly as he could in the tight press of people (they weren't actually crowding him, but close enough that his ability to move was hindered), Duncan brought the laser rifle to his hands. "I may be new to the Wastes, but I'm not dumb. I _earned_ this stuff. Fought a bear-thing- two of 'em, then zombies, giant flies," any sense of the people around him being shocked or impressed at the news of tangling with the bears faded into chuckles when he mentioned zombies, and outright laughter at the flies.

"Bloatflies and Ghouls ain't no threat, stupid Vaultie! You probably just ran from the Yao-gaui anyway, or you'd be meat in their bellies!"

_So the bear-things are Yao-guai? Why a Red Chinese name? They didn't win the war, did they? No, they couldn't have. Nobody would be speaking English._

"And I killed a Deathclaw, too!"

If he'd tried to impress them, he had failed.

The crowd was, however, highly amused by the information.

MacReady was actually laughing now, when he hadn't been before. "Right, kid, right! You, a Deatchclaw? I've been carrying and using a gun since I was five, and I ain't never been able to so much as _hurt_ a Deatchlaw for real. Look... hand over the rifle and launcher, and get outta here. We got a real need for heavy weaponry like that, and you're gonna die anyway, like Eclair said."

Maybe his paranoia was growing too quickly.

Maybe he was adjusting to the adult hormones in his new, mostly-grown body.

Or maybe he was just tired, sore, and very, very angry.

Whatever the reason, the rifle was suddenly pointing at the stocky man's face, right between his eyes.  
>To his credit, MacReady didn't flinch, aside from narrowing his eyes. Around him, though, it seemed every member of the crowd produced some kind of weapon, most of them lethal on their own, and pointed them at Duncan.<br>"Come on kid," MacReady growled, "you say you're smart, and you pull this crap? Get that rifle outta my face before my friends here make sure we take _all_ your gear. You get me?"

Duncan looked around nervously. He was outnumbered probably thirty to one, completely surrounded.  
>In other words, he was totally screwed.<p>

Unless...

"I'm outta here. Clear me a path, or this guy dies before I do."

Every member of the crowd, including Princess, turned toward MacReady, questions evident in their faces.

After a few minutes of very tense silence, MacReady nodded. "All right, kid, you got it. Get outta the way, Penny, Eclair. All you other shits. This guy ain't as weak as he looks, like he said. He's got balls of stone."

There was much grumbling about it, but Duncan could indeed hear a path being cleared. After about two minutes, the sound behind him stopped, and MacReady nodded. There was still a forest of gun barrels pointing at his chest or face when the stocky man said, "Come on kid, I'll walk you out, make sure they don't try anything stupid."

The younger man was immediately distrustful, but looking back, MacReady _hadn't _made any threatening moves. The closest he'd come was saying something that, while unpleasant, did indeed have the ring of truth.

"Fine. I need the insurance anyway."

The other man didn't even seem to mind that the rifle was pointing at his face the entire time (or as close to it as Duncan could manage, with constantly looking over his shoulder so he didn't walk into anything).

It took ten anxious, sweat-filled minutes before they reached the last house on the outskirts of town. Duncan kept the barrel on MacReady until the stocky boy rolled his eyes, put his hand up and shoved it away. "Don't be stupid, kid. You got balls, like I said, but if you shot me, you wouldn't make it a hundred feet before you were gunned down."

MacReady pointed south-east, "Down that way's Big Town. I'm the mayor there. You head down, tell the guy at the gate, Dusty, that I sent you, and he'll treat you right. Get you a bed, some clean-ish water, things like that."

"What?"

MacReady rolled his eyes again, "Just like I said. You probably pissed off a lot of people today with your little stunt, and you might not be welcome back in Arefu for a long time. Maybe ever. If the new mayor of the place gets wind of it, you might even have those crazy vampires coming after you."

"V-_Vampires_?"

MacReady nodded, "Yeah. Crazy, right? Well, they can't fly or do that other crazy stuff, but they _do_ drink blood. Way I heard it, they were attacking Arefu 'bout ten years back, and the Lone Wanderer made 'em stop, set up a deal where Arefu provided the Family- that's what they call themselves- with Blood Packs, all they could get, and the Family provided protection for the town. Place wouldn't be nearly as big as it is now without that deal, I guess. Now, the Family in Meresti Station and Arefu are basically the same town. The mayor of Arefu even lives in Meresti now, a creepy guy named Vance. He's also the leader of the Family, so they're basically one town even though there's two of 'em.

"Anyway, just stay away from this area for a bit and you should be okay. If you happen to run across anyone around Meresti or here, just tell 'em you're only passing through. Don't try and stop. But in Big Town, it should be safe enough, especially if you give 'em my name."

"I- I don't get it. Why're you being so nice now?"

MacReady shrugged, "Like I said, you got balls. I like that. Princess is gonna hate your guts, and I'm not gonna get any pussy from her for a week 'till she calms down, but whatever. Oh, hey, whats' your name, kid? Don't think you ever said."

"Duncan. Duncan Maddox."

"You got two names? Weird. Only Evan King has two."

His eyes widened a bit, "Huh? Is that why you guys only say one name? 'Cause you only have one?"

This time, MacReady just looked at him like he was crazy. "Why would you need two names?"

"Uh... me and my family?"

"Eh, whatever. Look, you take care of yourself. Don't let the Muties or Raiders get ya, and I'll keep an eye out for your friend, like I said."

"Uh... thanks."

But MacReady was already walking away.

**A/N2: **Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Remember to leave a review with your thoughts about the changes that have happened or are happening in the Wasteland, ten years after the events of FO3- and whatever else you like or don't like about the story, of course. :)  
>I'm not going to stop writing it regardless (I can't do that to myself, and wouldn't do that to you guys), but each review does spur me to write just a bit faster. :)<p>

Anyway, on a related note, I've resolved myself to update once a week, and I think I'll be able to keep that schedule- I'm actually likely to be able to stay _ahead_ of that schedule. The caveat is that I don't mean I'll update _this_ story once a week, just _a_ story I'm posting currently. I don't think it'd go longer than a month without updates here, since I enjoy Fallout so much, but it is possible. Still, at least it's something, right? Weekly updates, I mean. :)

'Till next time, Chiiiiildren, this is Three-Do- Oh. Wait. That's that _other_ station... :)


	5. Chapter 4: Big Trouble Before Big Town

**A/N: **Whew, made it! It was a close thing, I've been _really_ sick the last few days, and I almost didn't have an update ready. Still... it's here, it's done (and I have a chapter of One Hour coming up next I think, then one for LB2 the week after), and I can breathe a bit easier.  
>Well... for what I can breathe at all, anyway. It's bronchitis or something, after all. Lol<p>

Just as a warning, and **_ THIS IS IMPORTANT _**, this chapter is dark. Really dark. Darker than anything so far, and- on my personal scale- an 8/10 on the scale of everything I've written so far. It is most certainly the darkest thing I've posted (so far) on FF net. There's mention of rape, murder, and all sorts of bad things. No rape actually happens in-chapter, though it's talked about a lot. Murder (kinda) actually does happen- though in self-defense (ish). Drug use, etc- and Duncan even kind of is the one using it (not on himself).  
>Like I said, it's dark. However... this is all character-building stuff. He's 14 going on 20 (literally, in a physical sense), and trying to find out who he is in a much harsher world than he's used to still. Bad things are gonna happen to and because of him. (Remember the "Zombies"?) However... there's always a light at the end of the tunnel.<p>

So, warning over- Enjoy!

**Chap. 4** ** Big Trouble Before Big Town**

Duncan was really getting tired of walking...

But at least, he mused, he was getting used to it. The blisters all over his feet had mostly ruptured, so instead of a sharp, stabbing pain, they were a heavy, dull, throbbing pain. That was an improvement.

Kind of.

Still, the longer he spent in the Wasteland, the more he hated it. Hated the copper-sulfur tang in the air that smelled of lightning, even when the sky was 'clear' (or at least, the uniform yellow-gray it always appeared to be during the day). Hated the dust. There was a lot of that, even though the pre-war area had been covered in green.

But apparently, it was possibly after only a few days to get used to hacking up black phlegm from your lungs too, after you'd been inhaling it all day.

Duncan sighed, and, placing two hands on top of a rough outcropping, heaved himself upward to get a look around. His right hand went up to shade his eyes as he scanned the horizon. There were several small plumes of smoke to the south-southeast, likely from cook fires. Straight east was one of the southern bends of the Potomac, and-

_Zzip-crack!_

Duncan threw himself to the ground behind himself at once.

Whatever gun that had been, it had been powerful. The bullet had been going far faster, judging by the higher pitch, than his own 10mm could ever have done.

"Damn it," he heard a female voice swear, "fuckin' sights' going out on this thing. Gotta get it fixed soon. Waste o' caps... come out, come out, little Vaultie! I got a present for ya!"

Duncan shuddered. Generosity, no... that was one thing the voice did _not_ promise by tone, if nothing else. Maybe generosity in pain before he died.

"Uh, no thanks! I think I'll just stay right here!"

The woman laughed, as did two others to his right and left.

_That's not good..._  
>"The little boy thinks he's funny!" the woman to Duncan's left called, "You girls know how much I like funny boys!"<p>

The one on his right snickered, while the one who'd taken a pot-shot at him cackled. She, at least, had stayed back. The other two, the ones flanking him, were moving swiftly closer and downhill toward the river, in an obvious attempt to trap him between them.

The sad part, Duncan understood, was that it was already too late, they _had_ surrounded him. Still... he had a chance... maybe they weren't really hostile, even if-

Duncan's eyes flickered to his left, downhill the way he'd come, when the first woman stepped from behind the rocks. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.

What the woman was wearing was, frankly- there was no other word for it- _indecent_. There was nothing at all to the outfit from the woman's hair- in a high pony-tail- down to just above her nipples. Her torso was only covered by a leather corset, which was, despite being filthy and stained with blood, quite a lot more than Duncan had ever seen on a woman outside of some of Lance's stolen girly magazines back in his old life. The fact that she was wearing even _less_ as his eyes continued to rove downward caused an all-to-familiar stirring in his loins. While he was now in an adult body, Duncan had been fourteen when he was put into the stasis-coma in Vault 100, and he just couldn't help himself.

After all, the only thing she had on was an almost diaper-like wrap between her legs, and two studded leather pads on the outside of each thigh. The rest of those muscled legs, toned by a difficult life, were bare...

Then Duncan noticed the two severed hands swinging from the belt holding up that cloth wrap, and remembered the situation.

Unfortunately, that was a mere moment before something wooden impacted the side of his head, and his world went dark.

(O)(O)(O)

Pain.

Quite a lot of it, mostly on his wrists and across his stomach.

The smell of cooking meat; some kind he couldn't identify by the stench, but not something he thought he'd ever want to eat.

Eyes were nearly useless. One he felt was swollen shut, and rightly so, because the last thing he could remember seeing was ancient, cracked cedar- likely from a baseball bat- crashing into his head just above his right eye. The other was covered by something dark, gray, and foul-smelling.

His feet were on the ground, but only barely. The rest of him was hanging by the wrists, which was probably why they hurt so much.

It was his ears, though, that brought Duncan the most information about his current predicament. The light crackle of a fire.  
>Wind in the rocks and grass, whistling through the structure he was attached to.<p>

An occasional clink of metal-on-metal as it shook in heavier gusts.

Two cruel laughs from female voices.

And the sharp hiss of leather moving through the air at high velocity just before a streak of red-hot pain flashed across his stomach again.

He grunted.

"Like that, don't you, ya little cocksucker?"

The further voices chuckled, but the speaker, the one right in front of him, didn't seem at all amused at her own joke. "I know you're awake, you little shit. Tell me how much you like it!"

The leather crashed against him again, but this time on his swollen right cheek.

Duncan Maddox was not what he would consider 'soft'. He'd been more than a bit of a delinquent in his teenage years, back in the old world, and had simply pushed through the pain he felt in the new. This, though? This was something else entirely, and he couldn't hold back the whimper.

"Yeah," the closer woman cooed, "that's it, tell me how much it turns you on when I hurt you. If you're a good boy, I might even let you enjoy it before I cut her balls off and eat them."

"Don't be like that, Lenny," one of the further women called, and for a moment, Duncan felt a small glimmer of hope re-kindle in his chest.

"Yeah," the other said, "if you cut 'em off too soon, we can't save 'im for later!"

The closer one snorted, "Kid's not gonna last long anyway. You see how soft his skin is? He'll only last a couple days at most anyway."

Duncan fell back against the structure- he thought it might have been a chain-link fence- in despair as the two further women stood up and moved closer.

Once they reached him, the bandage was yanked from his head, and he saw all three of his captors for the first time.

Immediately in front of him was the woman wearing the corset and not much else who'd distracted him just long enough for one of her companions to bean him with a bat. She was grinning evilly, flicking the leather strap- too short to be a full whip- against her thighs, even between her legs, as she watched him.  
>The one on his left was holding the wrap that had been around his head, and she stared into his eyes while licking the trace of blood on it. He knew as she did so that the blood was his.<br>She, though, was wearing if anything even less than the sadist in the middle. Her own torso was covered only by two straps that wrapped around her ribs on the bottom and neck on top, and what looked like wire-mesh filters of some kind for... well, something. They covered her breasts, but only barely, and he could see the shadow of her nipples and dark areolae through the mesh. At least the lower half was more covered, he thought, by the shorts- or cut-off pants- but the accessories of the outfit left a lot to be desired. Like the leather-wearing sadist holding the whip, this one seemed to like pain, if the metal plates covered in spikes were any indication.  
>The last, on his right, was a year or two younger than the others, but just as hard-looking. She, though, was more heavily clothed. The woman's breasts were fully covered, by by a t-shirt of ancient age, which had been ripped so that <em>only<em> her breasts were covered, the material of which was held together by a poor sewing job and a strap that went around her neck and torso, much like the mesh cups of the other raider.

Duncan's rather embarrassed- and frightened- analysis of the three women's clothing was cut off when the girl on his right, the more-clothed one, jammed her hand between his legs and squeezed.

Hard.

Not hard enough to _hurt_, but certainly enough to make him cringe and whimper again.

"Sounds like he's about ready, girls," she hissed, "What say we start to _plaaaayy_?"

His fear of dying in agony was replaced by something new, something he never thought he'd experience in his life.

Plenty of fourteen-year-old boys dream of sex.

Almost all of them, probably.

Duncan, if he'd been asked, would likely have said _all_, not 'almost all'.

And two (or three!) girls at once? Come on, what 'normal' guy _wouldn't_ want that in some way?

But this was far beyond such boyhood fantasies, and not in a good way.

It's not like he was going to be a willing participant in an orgy or anything.

No...

He was going to be tortured (more), raped, and then likely killed.

It also didn't help that most of the women- the older two- were at _least_ ten years older than he.

And not that good-looking.

Or... clean.

In fact, one of them- the one with the whip- had more gaps than teeth.

Still, he was (mentally) a fourteen-year-old boy, and when a woman grabs your 'equipment' at that age...

You react.

"Ooh," the younger woman cooed now, "he _is_ ready to play! And look, girls, he's packin' heat, too!"  
>Duncan actually cried out in pain when the speaker and the spiked-plate woman on his left yanked his Vault-suit apart by the simple method of grabbing the flayed edges on his stomach and pulling, hard.<p>

Of course, there he was...

Visible erection, three women staring at him with obvious lust, and... other... feelings.

In a way, it was probably inevitable that as soon as the younger girl grabbed his penis in her dirty hand, he fired.

Not his 9mm, of course, but his six-incher.

Despite the terror and horror of what he was about to experience, the sight of the white cream splattering into the eyes of the whip-carrying woman was something almost exciting for Duncan.

Less so for the women.

"You little shit!" the even-dirtier-than-before woman screamed, "I'm gonna kill you for popping in my eyes!"

"Bitch!" the spike-wearer growled, snatching the leather strap from the other woman, who was now backing off and wiping furiously at her already-streaming eyes, "I'm gonna make you hurt for that one! I'm the only one that gets to come on Jezzie's face!"

Duncan, though, had just seen a chance, and couldn't let that image- intriguing as it was- take over. Not just yet.

Taking advantage of the younger woman's distraction while she watched the first scream, Duncan twisted his back furiously to the right, bringing his left foot over and up as quickly as he could manage with his hands tied.

His boot crashed into her chin so hard, he thought she must have been killed instantly. Certainly, she crumpled to the ground without uttering so much as a sound of surprise.  
>With his knee and leg still high in the air, he jerked the other way, ignoring the screaming protests of his wrists again, but this time bringing the leg down on the wrist holding the leather strap.<p>

The woman cried out and fell to her knees, clutching her broken arm, just in time for Duncan's other knee to follow his left, crashing up into her face.  
>The spike-wearing woman fell backwards, slumping against the chain-link fence, and didn't move again.<br>Distantly, Duncan noted that her face was actually concave.

_First sure human kill. Does that make me a murderer?_

Two seconds, less, had passed since the spiked-woman had yanked the leather strap from the sadist's grip, and she was still struggling to clear her puffy eyes of his jizz.

That, though, was only a small boon, because Duncan was still in a precarious position.

Soon, she would be clean enough to see again.  
>See her dead or unconscious friends (or whatever they were), and worse, see Duncan still tied up...<p>

And remember what said young man had just seen.

His gear, including his guns, about fifteen feet away in a loose pile, doubtless what the now-dead or unconscious women had been discussing when he'd woken up.

There was no way he could reach them, but she could... and she could kill him with a single bullet, when he had no chance of getting free in time.

And now she was free, and going for-

Him?  
><em>Why would she come after me?<em>

The rage in the woman's red eyes might have been it, but all Duncan could really say for sure was that this woman was both certifiably insane, and _stupid_.

Duncan, despite his previous performance, was no great martial artist.

But he was still a boy who'd grown up fighting with other boys, and knew how to use his body, even if it was weaker than he was used to.  
>Just as the woman got within striking range- his, not hers- his hands twisted to grab whatever was holding his wrists to take his weight, and he brought both legs up, thrusting out to smash his feet into her chest.<p>

He felt to snaps, the woman fell backwards onto the sandy ground, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Taking a moment to look up, he saw that he was bound only by cloth, the same dirty gray that had been around his head. With time, he could probably saw or break it on the fence itself. It would only take an hour, tops, and he-

Uh oh.

The sadist had stood, clutching her breasts with one hand, and glared at him from a safe distance, while she pulled on the bindings to her corset. It fell as she spoke. "Oh... oh you little shit. I am gonna make you hurt... so, so _bad_ for that... you broke my fucking ribs, you little bitch. I'm gonna chew your balls off while you're still alive!"

Only mesmerized for a moment by his first (real) view of a woman's uncovered chest, he jerked his eyes upward to watch her face, watch for signs of when she was going to attack.

It was only then that Duncan noticed her pupils were not the same size.

_Oh crap, she's high... this is so not good!_

She charged him again, too close for him to get a grip on the straps again.

Still, he had one more chance.

Right foot up, knee to the groin. Just a bit higher than he would on a man.

For a brief moment, her blood-crusted lips brushed against his, and he smelled fetid breath.  
>Her eyes, which were both light blue and very bloodshot, were an inch from his own.<p>

She whimpered, shook against him for a few seconds, and then fell sideways and back, landing half-atop the dead woman, where she continued to convulse for several seconds, blood and vomit oozing from her mouth.

When she didn't get back up, Duncan finally allowed himself a sigh of relief, though his hands were already jerking wildly back and forth, trying to find the sharpest edges on the fence to cut the bonds with.

It wasn't until ten minutes later that Duncan, now with his pistol in hand again, that he felt safe enough to actually look around.

Large fence, more than twelve feet high and tilted inward around the two forty-five degree angles. White square/triangle shape on the ground. Long rectangle, also in white, atop a low hill away from the fence. At the bend in the river...

_Fordham Flash Memorial Ballpark. I used to play here back in grade school. It's where I met Carlos and Diggy._  
>For several seconds, memories of a past life, an ancient time, filled Duncan's head. Grass, green and blowing in the light breeze.<br>Mothers gossiping on the bleachers while fathers called out proud words to their sons. Brothers and sisters playing underneath and around the bleachers, too. A faint cry of, "Strike Two!" echoed through the mists of time.

Duncan shook his head, wincing at the pain that caused. "No. That's gone, never gonna happen again. New world. Not old. Find Amber. Safe place. Safe-"

Eyes saw the 'decorations' the three women had left.

A body, heavily mutilated, missing both arms and legs below the elbows and knees, stripped bare of clothing, laying on a mattress. Between the man- it had once been a man, he was sure-'s legs, a great bloody patch with teeth-marks. Hanging from the fence ten feet from where he'd been, another body, this one a woman, wearing clothing similar to the sadist's, except that her breasts were gone, also apparently chewed off.

He wretched, vomited for several minutes as he realized what had caused the fetid breath on the woman, and just how serious she'd been when she'd threatened to chew his balls off while he was still alive.

_But she can't do it now. She's dead._

But he didn't know that, did he?  
>She could just have been catatonic from the drugs. He'd only kicked her in the ribs, and kneed her in the groin.<br>Somehow, he doubted either blow was lethal. In fact, now that he looked back, it's possible the pain had merely sent her into a fit... or something else, if she truly _was_ the sadist he thought she might be.

His eyes moved toward her. She was no longer laying across the dead woman.

In fact, her face was buried between the corpse's legs, and she appeared to be... snuffling?

"C'mon," he heard her say faintly, voice slurred, "give it to me, Kiba, _hurt_ me!"

He shuddered.  
>Sure, his suspicions had been confirmed, and the two- or three- women were lovers. If 'love' ever factored into it. But this... this was not anything like his fantasies.<p>

The drugs, the blood, the cannibalism...

Wait.

_Raiders. These three are raiders. Is... is this really real? Are there really people that have... that've sunk so low?_

Duncan swallowed, and began to inch toward the still-moving woman. She never noticed as he put the pistol barrel to the back of her head and pulled the trigger.  
>Never noticed as her body jerked once, then again softly, and fell still.<p>

Just to be safe, he repeated the act to the mishappen forehead of the one he'd kneed in the face, before moving to the last.

Then he noticed her chest, rising and falling.

Shallow, but there.  
>She was still alive.<p>

And, looking closer, Duncan realized more.

She was younger than he was. Maybe fifteen, but more likely fourteen- his 'real' age.

Almost cute.

Except that he'd seen her face twisted by lust, hate, and rage.

But still... could he murder her in cold blood?  
>Could he do the same thing they'd have done to him?<p>

Wouldn't that make him just as bad?

The barrel of the nine-millimeter fell from her face, while Duncan watched her for a long time.

In fact, when Duncan's soul-searching reached it's end, the sun had fallen behind the horizon, and the hot, dry day had turned to a chill, dry night.

With one hand holding the pistol trained on the living woman- girl- he began his search.

It took him a while, one-handed, to finish.

Two surettes of Med-X, the over-the-counter morphine injections found in many first aid kits, a steroid-delivery canister on which the word 'psycho' had been scratched, half-empty, and a single stimpack.

Duncan stuck one of the Med-X needles into the living raider's neck and pushed the trigger.

A few seconds later, her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled at him calmly, placidly. "Hey, John-boy," she murmured, "You gonna make me a woman now? Big Sis Jezzie's been lookin' at you, but I want first dibs. You game?"

Duncan froze for a moment, then nodded, "Sure, bitch. But I wanna have some fun. C'mere, stand up."

She groaned groggily as she did so, "'kay, John-boy. Give it to me now, yeah? I done what you said."

"Not yet," he answered, trying to subtely hide the gun behind his back, since she was probably not a threat just yet. Med-X was pretty potent stuff, he knew, and using it without pain to dull could really mess you up. "I got one more thing you gotta do, babe, then I'll give it to you. Just stand right there..."

"Here?" she had moved back under the guidance of his hands, which were surprisingly gentle, given how much he wanted to hurt her.

_What kind of sick fuck does that make me, wanting to torture and maim a fourteen-year-old girl? Fuck, I'm only fourteen myself! Am I a sociopath or something?_

She stood calmly while he tied her hands in the same spot his had been in an hour or more before. He, though, had used the leather strap he'd been whipped with. He somehow doubted she'd get free, since she had very little room to wiggle. When he stepped back, the raider woman smiled weakley, and started twisting her hips in a slow bump-and-grind, "John-boy, you kinky dog. C'mere, I _need_ it! Gimme your cock!"

"No."

"W- what? But John-boy-"

"Shut up, bitch," he growled.

"Ooh, talk dirty to me!"

He ignored her continued calls. She'd be left for the wastes. If she were lucky, a Deathclaw or Yao-guai would finish her off fast. If not... well, something would, sometime. Dehydration, maybe.  
>That was, he knew, a hell of a way to go.<p>

Ignoring the dreams of ages past, Duncan now began searching the area in earnest. Unfortunately, what he'd hoped for, some decent shelter, was not to be found.

Not so much as a piece of tin to lean against the fence for shelter. It appeared these three raider women liked sleeping outdoors.  
>The fire-pit they'd built out of half a fifty-gallon drum had long since burned down, and the only fuel they'd apparently had was... well, their 'decorations'. No way was he burning people, even long-dead ones.<p>

Murderer, he might be. But he would _not _stoop to the level of raiders. Never.

He'd kill himself, first.

Kill every last raider in the Wastes...

That, though, sounded like a plan.

Duncan nodded to himself. "I can be that kind of murderer."

There were, though, three things he'd avoided searching. More, if he considered the mutilated corpses, but somehow he doubted the raiders would have missed anything there.

Still... _May as well get something for my trouble, right?_

For ten minutes, Duncan tried hard to focus on his task, rather than ogling the corpses as he stripped the two women, folding their clothing-armor into his backpack and gathering a small stack of baseball bats from the area, including the one which had, judging by the stain of blood, been used against him not so very long ago.

_Besides,_ he thought to himself as he tried to ignore the female bodies beneath him, _It's not like I'm into dead girls... or old ones. This one's probably old enough to have been my mother!_

But look he did. He couldn't help it.

In that ten minutes, up close and personal as he scavenged all he could, Duncan learned more about the anatomy of women than any girlie-mag had ever taught him.

Then he looked up to the girl on the fence.

_She has the most useful clothing. Nothing I'd wear here, and my suit's shredded. At least her shorts might fit me... and she's gonna die anyway._

It didn't escape his notice that his thoughts were far too similar to those expressed by the residents of Arefu the day before, but he had to admit, life in the Wastes was... well, it required a high learning curve. And he was nothing if not a pragmatist.

"All right, bitch," he growled as he stepped up before her, "I'm gonna give it to you now. But first I'm gonna take off your clothes... I wanna see you."

Something in his voice, in the way he was speaking, seemed to pierce through the girl's drug-addled mind.

Maybe it was his own hesitation. He doubted, in the old world, that he'd ever have been the kind of guy to drug a girl to get some. That was... just not something he was interested in. That was probably why he couldn't fake it now.

After all, he'd drugged her so she couldn't fight back if she woke up. He wanted her dead, not to rape her.

_No, Duncan, you don't want that... you want someone to love. Right? Someone like Mom and Dad. Someone you'd go to jail to protect._

He nodded to himself, even as her eyes seemed to focus past the morphine. "You ain't John-boy."

Duncan's answering smile was hard, now that he was more sure of his motivations. "No, I'm not. I'm Duncan. What's your name?"

"Duncan? What kinda stupid name is that?"

He stared at her for a moment, "The kind that's already killed you, bitch. If you don't wanna tell me, that's fine, but I figured you'd want the guy killing you to know. No skin off my back, though."

She glared, "Killing me? A soft Vaultie like you? You wouldn't have the balls!"

He, like her, looked down at his shredded suit. He was, in fact, still swinging free. But then her eyes moved to the left, where her sisters- or whatever they were- lay atop each other.  
>"Killed them with just my legs, tied up, just like I dropped you. No balls, you say? Looks to me like I'm carrying around fucking <em>nukes<em> between my legs."  
>She stared, wide-eyed, as he started undoing the clasps of her shirt.<p>

"Y- you're g-g-g-onna r-rape me, Mister?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

She was silent for a while, watching in disbelief as he yanked her half-shirt off, then moved down to unbutton her shorts. The denim was very old, faded, and caked with mud, but it still seemed useable enough.

Part of Duncan was horrified that he was stripping the clothing from a tied-up and drugged girl about his age, but the part of him that had kept him alive for the last few days didn't seem to care at all.  
>That was what worried him the most; that most of him... just didn't care. Didn't care that he <em>could<em> rape this girl. That he _was_ going to leave her to die a slow, probably horrible death.

"What are you doin' then, Mister?"

"Taking your clothes off," he answered, not looking up at her, even though her voice was quivering with fear.  
>"W-why? You said you ain't gonna-"<p>

"I need 'em, thanks to you and your sisters. I gotta wear something."

She gulped, and he saw the fence shake. She'd probably nodded. "You gonna leave me here, Mister?"

He nodded again.  
>"Please!" she suddenly cried, "I'll suck your dick! I'll let you fuck me, I'll even be nice-like! Just don't leave me here!"<p>

He ignored her, forcing one foot and then the other up to slip her shorts off. He'd ignored- mostly- the thin patch of copper pubic hair as he'd pulled them downward. Apparently, at least for raiders, underwear was strictly optional in the wastes.

Likely, the soft material just didn't last long.

He struggled out of his Vault-suit's remains, ignoring the pleading girl, and pulled the shorts up. They didn't quite close, and they were _really_ snug in the crotch, but they fit. A belt would help, and he had one thanks to the sadist. Apparently he'd be shirtless, though, until he could find or buy one. None of their tops would even come close to fitting him, and frankly, he'd look ridiculous in a corset.

"Mister!" she cried again, "Don't leave me here! My name's Benny! I don't wanna die!"

He flinched.

Apparently he'd been wrong. Knowing her name made it a _lot_ harder.

He turned away, shouldering his re-packed backpack, before making sure his weapons were all in their proper places. The baseball bat in the best shape- the one he'd been whacked with- was in hand as well.  
>"Mister! Don't go! I'll be- I'll be your slave! Your bitch! I'll do whatever you want, just <em>don't leave me here to die<em>!"

Duncan stopped after having taken two steps, sighed, and turned around to walk back to the girl. "Benny, you say?"

She nodded fervently. He could see the tears streaming down her mostly-naked face, dripping on her small, perky breasts, and running down them in rivulets.  
>He thought her nipples might have been pink, but in the darkness, lit only by the moon and stars, it was too hard to tell. "Let me be <em>real<em> clear. I'm gonna leave you here. I'm not gonna rape you. If you can get out alive, you can live. If something comes to eat you, you're gonna die. If you starve, or die of thirst, you're gonna die. If raiders come, you're gonna get raped and die. Okay?"

She sniffled and nodded again. "But Mister-"

"How many?" he asked, interrupting, "How many men and women have you and your sisters killed and eaten?"

Benny shook her head. "I donno, Mister!"

He sighed, "How many in the last month? That's thirty days."

"I donno! I can't count past ten!"

He sighed again, eyes closed, "How many in the last ten days then?"

She didn't say, but her eyes flicked to both of the 'decoration' bodies, then back to his, still terrified.  
>He nodded solemnly, "So at least two. Why shouldn't I leave you, then? It's what you deserve, right?"<p>

She nodded, whimpering, still crying.

"So that's what you're gonna get. Have fun, Benny. It's been real nice meeting you."  
>The lie was probably, in retrospect, not a good idea. It seemed to have given the young woman a chance to realize that, like Duncan, her legs were untied.<p>

She kicked upwards, and her knee crashed into his groin.

With a groan, he fell back.

However, unlike Benny's sisters had done to him, Duncan had tied Benny up _well_.  
>That was why, when he was able to stand on unsteady legs again a few minutes later, the raider, who was now raging against her bonds despite the bleeding cuts already in her wrists, was no closer to being free than she had been before she'd kicked him.<p>

In fact, the only difference it had made was how angry her captor was.

"All right," he said, voice trembling with suppressed rage, "I guess you want to do this the even-harder way, right Benny?"

The raider hissed, then screamed, "Come on, you little fuck! Come closer again! Just try and stick your tiny pecker in my cunt, and I'll fucking rip your throat out with my _teeth_!"

Duncan, though, was not quite that stupid.

Instead, the baseball bat came up over his shoulder, and with a double-handed swing, he brought it sideways into her left knee.

Benny screamed, high and loud, and louder still when he repeated it on the right.

The raider was hanging limply from her arms, sobbing, a few seconds later, when Duncan lifted her chin gently with the end of the bat.  
>"Law of the Wastes, right Benny? Payback's a bitch. But I got one last bit for you..."<br>Weakly, she nodded, "Do it quick, Mister, please... I don't wanna hurt no more."  
>He nodded to himself, sure that her pain- dulled as it was due to the Med-X- was not nearly as much now as it would be in an hour or two when it wore off completely.<br>Softly, slowly, gently, Duncan's left hand- the one not holding the bat- moved up to cup the girl's breasts, sliding over her nipples and areolae for a few seconds, before hefting their weight once, twice.  
>Benny whimpered, "You fucking lied."<br>Duncan shook his head, "No... it's just payback. You grabbed my balls and tried to break him, grabbed my dick... just returning the favor, bitch."

She whimpered again, "I wouldn't mind if you did. 'least then I could die with a good memory."  
>His hand, an inch from cupping her copper-covered sex, withdrew.<br>"Nah," he muttered, half to her and half to himself, "Much as I want to know what it's like, I don't want to give you the satisfaction."

Without another word, Duncan turned and walked away, around the ball-stop and further east along the Potomac.

Benny screamed for an hour, at least, and her cries were still faintly audible in the night when they were cut off suddenly.  
>Duncan smiled grimly, adjusted himself in the too-small shorts, and kept walking.<p>

(O)(O)(O)

_Almost got raped, could have raped a girl._

_Didn't. That's important. I didn't, and I won't. I won't be one of... of those people. I'd rather die._

_Almost got eaten. Didn't._

_Almost died._

_Came out with three dead, more weapons, more armor, and some chems. Fuck, my head hurts. I wonder if Med-X is safe for a head injury..._

Dawn was breaking over the ruins of Washington, but Duncan didn't care much. His feet hurt, his head ached terribly, his stomach was bleeding still- his shorts and 'equipment' were now wet with blood, despite that most of the wounds were only large welts- and he was really, _really_ getting tired of walking.

Numbly, he hefted the bottle in his left hand. It was, according to the label and color, whiskey. He'd never had any- it smelled foul- but was debating it now. Something to cut the edge of the pain off. However, he knew he had a concussion. In fact, his eyesight was wavering in the right eye, so his injury was actually pretty severe. He was hearing things, too.  
>It almost sounded like a cat.<p>

_Ain't seen any cats. Dogs, yeah, but no cats._

Not really sure why- he would later blame it on the concussion- Duncan began to amble- or stagger- down the slope of the riverbed toward the waterline.

Maybe cats tasted good?

And he was awfully hungry, and he needed to save his food, and...

_Holy shit on a stick!_

There, trapped between two rocks in the slowly-moving current, was an egg about a foot across.

Well, half an egg. Bobbing almost like a child in a bucket was a baby Deathclaw, stuck in the bottom half of it's own egg. One clawed hand clung desperately to the rocks, the other to it's egg as it swayed.

The current was slow and steady, but the creature was the size of a large kitten, and it was about to slip away.

_Fuck. No way. I can't do that. It's... it's just a baby, even if it's mom tried to kill me!_

With a heaving sigh, Duncan started to wade into the shallow river.

The creature jerked away as he splashed closer, the water only waist-high when he reached it, but as soon as one hand reached out to grab it, the thing leapt upwards, shredding the already-ripped up arm of his Vault-suit, as it clambered up his arm to perch on his head, whimpering and mewling piteously.

"Ow!" was all Duncan had time (or the energy) to say before he fell backwards, unbalanced already, when one of the thing's feet scratched along his right temple.

With a mighty splash, both he and the baby were covered in irradiated water.

When Duncan regained enough of his damaged senses to stand back up, the Deatchclaw was struggling to stay afloat ten feet downstream.

He groaned, "This is so not worth the work..." before splashing awkwardly after it, for the moment heedless of the radiation in the water.

It took him nearly two minutes to get it, and himself, far enough away from the river's edge to feel safe that neither would drown, or be taking in too many rads, or- Duncan shuddered- meet up with another of the white, shelled, clawed monstrosities.

"All right, boy... or girl, whatever you are," he muttered, trying to prize the thing from his head. He could feel it's claws- the longest ones already an inch long- digging into his scalp painfully. Likely, he was bleeding too. But it... just didn't want to come off!

Finally, nearly an hour's struggle later (during which he found out he _was_ bleeding now, when it started dripping into his eyes), Duncan was able to lure it down with one of his tins of Cram, which the thing dug into with gusto.

In fact, watching the pint-sized terror burrow it's way into the meet was almost cute...

Almost.

If he hadn't known it would grow into a hulking monstrosity three times his size, capable of shredding the undercarriage of a _train_ in a single swipe of it's massive claws.

"Well, boy, girl, whatever you are, enjoy your food. I'm gonna get the hell out of here before you get any bigger."

He was only half-way up the hill when it started mewling for more, but he didn't turn back.

There was no way he was raising a Deathclaw.

And he could see lights!

Big Town was close!

**A/N2:** Well, there you have it. It's probably the darkest this story will get for a while, but it will be darker when it does. The whole 'almost' thing? It won't be so almost next time, or the time after... because the Fallout world is a cruel place.  
>Still, good things are happening... even if you don't know about them yet.<p>

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Hate me for writing these events? Let me know! Reviewing is good for your soul. +Karma -Karma!


	6. Chapter 5: Big Town Blowout

**A/N: **I like this chapter. It's a huge contrast from the last, because nothing bad really happens here, just some of Duncan's angst over the old world. For those who think he's getting off too easy with the killing people, stress from almost dying several times, and all that? Well... it's coming. Duncan's a tough guy, but even tough guys break sooner or later. It's just taking him a while because it hasn't all sunk in yet.

However... this is probably the happiest chapter of the first act (of three planned) up until the last chapter, which ends on a very happy note (for the Wastes).  
>But you don't want to hear me ramble.<p>

Enjoy!

**Chap. 5 Big Town Blowout**

Duncan frowned at the smell surrounding the semi trailer as he passed. A quick, furtive glance showed that there was no threat. No matter how many years had passed since he'd been put into the coma in Vault 100, he'd grown up in a metropolis. He knew a drug den when he saw one.  
>The listless people sprawled over the old, tatty mattresses, many half-clothed or less, and the paraphernalia laying around were a big clue.<p>

Ignoring the pain in his feet in favor of wincing at the smell, which made his head hurt even more, Duncan trudged by without sparing them another glance.  
>The ramshackle houses that had surrounded the broken overpass on which Arefu was built were here, as well, but far more of them. He estimated, as well he could while peering through a huge black eye and a concussion, that Big Town was about twice the former settlement's size. The funny part? He knew this place.<p>

Shady Oak, the town just north of where his cousin Ozzie- Oswald to his parents- had lived. They'd come to Shady Oak for the food and movies more than once, since both were within biking distance of Ozzie's house on the north end of Great Falls. In fact, unless he missed his geography by a lot, that part of the two towns, Shady Oak and Great Falls, was the part spared most of the devastation surrounding them. The sparse houses appeared to have been far enough apart to mostly survive what must have been devastating fires during and after the nuclear strikes. Maybe Ozzie's house was still there?

That hope kept Duncan moving, even helped him move faster He shrugged, wondering why he was excited, wincing at the way it made the welts on his stomach pull, and kept walking. He'd passed a few people in the streets already, but none had spared him more than a passing glance. Apparently, people limping into town wounded was not that uncommon.

He walked for nearly a mile before reaching the ancient homes in the very subdivision where his cousin had lived. And just _there_. Right there.

His cousin's house still stood.

_But it doesn't matter, does it? It's been a long-ass time since the war. I should really find out what year it is. If anyone even keeps track any more. They're gone... but maybe I got relatives. Or something._

It took Duncan almost fifteen minutes to pass the three houses on the short block, pass an ancient playground that actually had kids _playing_ on it, to reach the mailbox he'd once climbed up to stand atop before jumping on his cousin like Grognak did whenever he had the chance. A leaping overhead swing was the barbarian's signature move, after all, and Duncan had wanted to be just like him, once.

That was a long time ago, though.

_Way too long._

The name, Wallace, was still there in faded stickers on the mailbox, though it now read Wall e. The numbers were mostly gone too.

Duncan looked, then, up from the mailbox to the front step. The house was boarded up from the outside. That made sense, Ozzie's family had wanted to flee what they were sure would be a deathtrap should the worst happen. They might have even made it to a Vault.

Without any conscious decision, without a plan at all, Duncan began stripping the boards from the doorway with his bare hands.

It wasn't like he had a tool. He never noticed that the boards were, while not new, too newly applied to have been put up by his family.

He noticed- heard- a small crowd gathering a fair distance back to watch while he worked, but no one stopped him, no one offered to help, so Duncan ignored them.

It wasn't until he'd ripped the last plank off with bleeding fingers that a deep voice called, "Hold on there, kid. That house is Big Town property. Don't think you can just loot it."

Duncan, shoulders slumped, exhausted, forced himself to stand up straight as he turned.

He was quite surprised to see what looked like a police officer in full riot gear, including a scratched, weathered, and burned plexiglass shield, halfway between himself and the crowd. Duncan gestured over his shoulder with a thumb, "'s my cousin's house. I gotta find out if... well, if they're around."

Several of the crowd tittered, but the officer glared instead. "I've been here longer than anyone else right now, and I can tell you no one's lived in that house for at least fifteen years. That's why we boarded it up."

Duncan shrugged, "I figured that. My cousin lived here a long time ago. I don't expect to find him, I just... I just want to know what happened."

The officer started moving toward him, one hand on the grip of his pistol, "Come on, man, don't make me do anything hasty. Just back up from the door, we can sit down somewhere and talk, and you can let whatever chems you're on wear off. How's that sound?

Duncan's eyes narrowed. Was this going to be Arefu all over again? Would no one believe him? "Look, _cop_, I ain't a liar. I've been in a damned Vault for a long time. I donno how long, but it's been a long time. My cousin lived here before the war."

"What war, man?" the officer asked. He'd stopped, but hadn't removed the hand from his gun, "Hasn't been a big war around here for almost ten years, since the Brotherhood and the Wanderer drove off the Enclave bastards."

Part of Duncan's mind filed away the word 'Enclave', and assumed the Wanderer was the same person who'd fixed the purifier at the cost of her life. The Brotherhood he knew. "I'm talking about a nuclear war, the one that apparently destroyed D.C."

A few members of the crowd burst into raucous laughter. Some hissed in surprise or fear. Most only looked at him as they had been, with neutral, guarded eyes.  
>The officer actually smiled, but started walking again, "Come on, come get something to eat, maybe a little something to drink with me. We'll let you tell us <em>all<em> about how you survived a war two hundred years ago to now."

Duncan staggered.

He'd known it had been a long time, but two hu- two- two hundred _years_?

He slumped against the door frame. "Two hundred? It's really been two hundred? What... what year is it?"

As the cop reached him and gently pulled him to his feet- Duncan was not so stunned to notice that the officer had deliberately tried _not_ to aggravate his injuries- he answered, "It's Twenty-two-eighty-eight. December... uh... seventeenth I think."

A low, strong female voice on Duncan's other side corrected, "It's the eighteenth, Dusty."

"Oh, right. Sorry, the eighteenth. Yeah."

The name jarred something loose in Duncan's head, brought him back from the near-hysteria he was doubtless entering. "Dusty? Dusty in Big Town?"

The officer nodded, "That's me."

"MacReady... he said to tell you something. Uh... food, water. Treat me right."

The woman on his left snaked a hand under Duncan's arms a moment before sticking a needle in in left and depressing the trigger. "If MacReady sent you, we'll do just that, kid. Relax... I'm a doctor. I'm trying to help. Don't fight..."

But whatever the black woman was saying faded into the mists as Duncan _finally_ got some good sleep- whether he wanted it or not.

(O)(O)(O)

Duncan heard voices. They were fuzzy, indistinct. But they were familiar. For a time, he thought he was back in bed at his parent's home, nursing a high-grade fever when he'd had pneumonia as a kid. But no... as time passed, he became more aware, remembered more, thought more.

His parents had been dead for more than two hundred years. Likely, Taylor had been for just as long. His friends were all gone, except his new friend- if he dared call her that- Amber.

The male of the pair talking said, "Think it's safe to wake him?"

That was the more familiar voice. It was deep, hard, but not cruel. It sounded almost like his uncle, Ozzie's dad, who'd been a vet.  
>The softer voice, just as low and a lot closer, said quietly, "No need, he's already waking up. That fever really did a number on him; I've never seen someone come back from Radsickness like that. Only heard of it once or twice, and those people all got Ghoulified. But he's coming around, should be okay to talk in a few-"<p>

"M'fine," Duncan mumbled.

Only, even to his own voice, it sounded more like "Mine".

"See?" That was the woman. She almost sounded like his mom, but... not. Her accent was strange, but she still sounded educated.

"You alive yet, kid? I'd hate to see you die after the stunt you pulled in Arefu."

Arefu? Where was that?

What a crazy name. No one would name a city...

But wait.

Images flashed through Duncan's brain; many weapons leveled at him. His own pointing between the eyes of a stocky, shortish man with steel gray eyes and a hard look.  
>"Macncheese?"<br>At least, that's what it sounded like. Duncan was pretty sure that wasn't the man's name.

The woman, and another who hadn't spoken, snorted with laughter while the man grumbled under his breath, then said, "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up... it's me, kid. You kicking around in there, or still feelin' like you had too much fungus?"

Duncan blinked, and in doing so, realized he could open his eyes. At once, he jerked upright, only to find that a strap around his waist kept him from rising too far- just to a sitting position- atop the medical gurney.

MacReady, looking just as he had the last time Duncan had seen him, was leaning against the wall near a door. In the corner a few feet away was a pretty woman with a strong jaw. _Princess_. Only the one next to him, who was saying, "Whoah, calm down, buddy. Nobody's gonna hurt you," was new. She was dressed in the remains of a red RobCo jumpsuit that had been designed for a person much smaller than she was. Not that she was large, but she was _tall_. Taller than he by at least a few inches.  
>"I'm Red. Big Town's doctor. I'm the one that patched you up. Sorry we had to strap you down, your fever was pretty bad and you were having seizures."<p>

Duncan nodded, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Feel okay."

The black woman nodded, "Yeah, your fever dropped yesterday, I just hadn't taken the strap off in case it came back. But if you're up, you're gonna be fine. You're gonna have the runs for about a week, but..."

Princess snickered while MacReady groaned in sympathy.

"The runs?"

Red nodded, briskly undoing the strap and offering a hand to help Duncan off the table, "The shits? Runs? Riverpants?"

Duncan shook his head for several seconds as she continued to list slang terms, before finally getting around to a medical term he actually knew- Diarrhea. He flushed, and Red smiled.

"Educated, huh? Finally, someone I can talk to! I had to use _nine_ doses of Rad-Away to flush your system clean. You must've been drinking river water a long time. You should be dead. That's why you've got the case, though, with it pulling all the irradiated water out of your system. Of course, the concussion didn't help, or the broken skull, or the three cracked ribs, or-"

Princess whistled, apparently impressed. MacReady smiled knowingly, "Told you the kid had balls."

The woman shot her- boyfriend?- a glare, but said nothing else, continuing to appraise Duncan, though with a more critical eye.

Red, having lost her train of thought for a moment at the interruption, picked back up. "You also had several lacerations on your abdomen, twelve in total, with twenty-nine more cutaneous lacerations that didn't break the surface, and-"

Duncan shook his head, "Whoah, whoah. Hold on, Doc. I just... what? Plain English?"

The doctor froze mid-word, sighed with a defeated air, and moved one finger around as she spoke, pointing to various spots on Duncan's body. "You head broken. I fix. You keep bandaid on owie. You many bone break. I fix. You have many owies. I fix. You okay now."

This time, both MacReady and Princess laughed, while Duncan scowled at the suddenly sarcastic doctor, "Hey, I'm not a moron. I just couldn't process it all that fast. I'm not a doctor."

Red rolled her eyes, "Well, with the way you were going on about having a cousin living in old Rimshot's place... you don't look anything like her. You had to have been hallucinating, so-"

MacReady made to interrupt, but Duncan had already hopped off the gurney and stuck a finger in Red's face. Princess immediately put a hand on her shotgun grip, but didn't draw.  
>"Listen up, Doc. I'm thankful for patching me up and all, but I'm <em>not<em> crazy, and I'm _not_ hallucinating. I've never done chems in my whole life. Never even had booze. That house _was_ my cousin's, no matter who lived there since they did. His name was Ozzie Wallace, had a little sister named Mattie- Matilda, his real name was Oswald. They moved right before the war started."

MacReady nodded, "Yeah, Dusty said you'd talked about that. So what happened in that Vault, then?"

Duncan immediately clammed up, took a step back from Red, and sat down on the gurney again, staring pointedly away from all three of them.

There was silence for several minutes, until Red put a soft hand- despite being bigger than he was- on his shoulder. "I'm sorry... for your loss, I mean. But we still need to know. If there's more people we can help..."

Duncan shook his head, "They're dead. All but... all but three others."

Even Princess the hard-ass looked sympathetic, but it was again Red who spoke. "Vault-tec again, no doubt."

At his questioning look, she and MacReady shared a glance. The man nodded.

Red turned and hopped up on the gurney next to him. It creaked, but held, and she took his hand hesitantly in her own, wrapping them up in what he supposed was a gesture of support.  
>"Vault-tec, the company that made the Vaults? They... well, this only came to light recently, at least around here, with the Lone Wanderer discovering it. They had an... agenda. The Vaults weren't really designed to work, because they didn't think the Great War would actually happen. So... so they did an experiment."<p>

Duncan didn't quite follow, but listened anyway, as Red explained, with occasional assistance from MacReady, how Vault-tec had designed some to be control vaults, but most of them to fail, often in catastrophic ways. Such as one woman in a Vault with nine hundred and ninety-nine men. Or with improperly-sealing doors. Or that conducted FEV- Forced Evolutionary Virus- experiments on the populace, turning them into monsters. Each of the three shared a pointed look at that one.  
>"So," Red concluded, "it's possible your Vault was designed with improper support, was designed to fail. I don't know. But it's possible it just couldn't handle the earthquakes. Our records say they were pretty bad, and our ancestors- at least our precursors- were safe on a fault-line, where the movement is weakest."<p>

Duncan nodded. He'd known that little tidbit from science class. A memory came to him then of the surprise he'd felt when he'd found out his 'Medi-Lounger' would actually be putting him into a coma rather than performing a physical. "No... that's not it."

Princess smirked, "Hey, kid, just 'cause you don't want to believe it-"  
>Duncan shook his head, "No, no... I get that. I can believe Vault-tec wanted to screw with people like that. They were a huge company, and... and huge companies didn't always follow the rules. I was just a kid, and I knew that.<p>

"But that's not what Vault-tec had planned. We were put into Medi-Loungers. Those are like... well, this gurney, but _really_ advanced. We were told they were just going to do a physical before we entered the main part of the vault, but instead they put us into comas. I climbed in as the bombs were falling, with bright lights and sirens, crowds of people and my sister climbing into the one next to mine... and then woke up when my life support was running out. About... uh, how long have I been asleep?"

Red ticked off her fingers, "Little less than four days."

"Then I left Vault One Hundred with Amber and Rob on... the fifth of December, I guess? If it's the twenty-second?"

The medic nodded, glad her patient still seemed to have his memory. She'd seen fevers as bad as his do strange things to a person's mind, and memory loss was one of the more common things.

"So... I was fourteen when I went under, and woke up with this body. All the muscle and callouses I had were gone. I wasn't real strong or anything, but I was kinda tough, tougher than my friends, anyway. But I guess those're coming back, with the new blisters I got walking around. I've been doing a lot of that."

MacReady nodded, "Yeah, only way to get around now. You'll get used to it, or you'll die."

Red glared, but the man only shrugged, "What? It's true."

Duncan agreed with him. He didn't need sympathy and coddling. "I think they already have. They popped before I got to town and started healing over. Hey, Doc- uh, Red- Do I have any scars on my head?"

She nodded, "Yes, you have several. I assumed they were related to whatever caused your skull fracture, although the pattern is a little inconsistent-"

"Fucking Deathclaw... I knew I shouldn't have let it live."

All three gasped.  
>"Y- you saw a Deathclaw? Around here?" Princess whispered.<br>It was now his turn to be impressed by her. Despite the low volume, she didn't sound afraid, only determined.  
>"Just a baby. The only adult one I saw was before I came into Arefu. I actually dumped the eggs in the river, but this one hatched before I was coming by, and it was stuck in the water. I couldn't just leave it."<p>

"We gotta go hunt it down," Princess said, "before it gets bigger."

MacReady nodded. "Take Dusty, Flash, and Timebomb. I'll watch the place with Pappy. Don't let it escape."

Duncan frowned, "Hold on. I didn't save it from the river just so you guys could hunt it down. It's just a baby."

Red, standing from the gurney now that Duncan's 'emotional crisis' had passed, put a hand on his arm. "But babies get bigger. You said you saw an adult. They reach maturity _very_ quickly, in just a few years, but they're dangerous from the start. You did a good thing, but it's better to be safe and kill it now before it tries to make a nest and start breeding."

He could see their point, so he didn't argue. He _had_, after all, almost been killed by one that shouldn't even have been able to move. But still...

_Whatever. If the baby gets killed it gets killed. Survival of the fittest, right? I gave it the chance I took away before. It's all down to it, now._  
>"All right," MacReady said, clapping his hands together, "we gotta head out and get ready for the party. See you in a couple days if not tomorrow, Red."<p>

"See you, MacReady, Princess."

The other woman only nodded to them both. Duncan was surprised to see respect not just for the doctor, but for him, too, in her eyes.

"Okay," Red said, turning toward him, "let's do a check-up and see if my diagnosis was right... if it was, you'll be able to leave in time for the party!"

"Party?"

Red nodded, smiling. She had very white teeth, that stood out in stark contrast to her gold-framed glasses and dark skin. "It's Fat Man Day in a couple days."

_Fat Man? In December? Do they mean Christmas?_

(O)(O)(O)

Two days later, Red allowed Duncan to walk out the door of her clinic in time to see a procession of people carrying a brightly-painted piece of wood that looked just like a Christmas tree- including multi-colored circles for ornaments and lights- on their shoulders past the building.  
>"Come on," the doctor gestured him to follow.<br>He was quite confused by the singing- he couldn't understand what Christmas had to do with explosions or fat people aside from Santa Claus. He doubted the people even knew what sleigh bells and snow were, if it was this warm in December.

But when he and Red reached Ozzie's house, they found Dusty standing by the ancient mailbox. "Here," he said, passing a small object to Red. She palmed it, ignoring Duncan's questioning look, as Dusty fell in behind them in the crowd.

They walked completely out of town, with a small group including Princess continuing past where they stopped at the playground with the 'tree'.

"What're they doing?"

It was MacReady, rather than the two he'd been walking with, that answered from just behind him. "They're putting up the Fat Man Tree so we can shoot it up!"

More than a little confused, but wanting to set the tradition right- at least as he knew it- Duncan turned to correct the town mayor, before being brought up short.

Not five feet away from him, MacReady was on one knee with a half-pipe style rail launcher on his shoulder. He seemed to be tweaking the sights, ignoring Duncan's look of shock.

Duncan was, although he'd deny it, a bit of a military buff. Guns, explosions, tanks, he liked them all. If it was armored or could kill something, even better.

So it was that he recognized what had only just been cleared for field use after extensive trials a month before the bombs had fallen- a Field Assault Tactical Micro-Atomic Nuke Launcher, more commonly known by the acronym F. A. T. M. A. N. That nuclear warhead he had stashed in his backpack? It was launched from one of those very devices. And MacReady was loading one right now.  
>"Whoah! What the fuck, man? Are you trying to blow us all to hell?"<p>

The cheering, singing crowd around them fell silent, but MacReady only glanced at him like he was an idiot.  
>"No one's blowing anyone to hell. We'll wait 'till they get back. Why'd I want my girl to fry? I mean, I know she's a bitch, but she spreads 'em when I want, you know?"<p>

Duncan blinked. The crowd, including Red and Dusty, seemed rather surprised by his own shock. "I... I don't know what the hell's going on, but I don't want to be anywhere near where you're firing that thing."

This time, MacReady actually looked up from the sites, "I'm not firing it. You are."

"Oh, _hell_ no!"

One of the mayor's eyebrows lifted up past the brim of his bush hat. "You carry around a rocket launcher, killed a Deathclaw, and you're afraid of a little Nuka-bomb?"

Duncan shuddered, but stood his ground. "Those things blew up the fuckin' _world_, man. I never want to see one again."

To his credit, MacReady blinked, then relaxed. "I get that, I guess. If you were really alive to see that, I can see why you wouldn't want to. But this is strictly small-yield. I mean, it'll drop a Behemoth in one shot, but it doesn't even leave lasting rads. You'll be fine. 's long as you don't miss, anyway, and fire at our feet or something."

Several of the crowd backed further away at this last, which was delivered under MacReady's breath.

Duncan started to panic. These people were _crazy_. They almost made the three Raider sisters look sane! Firing off a nuke for a _holiday_?

MacReady, satisfied with the sites, stood up just as whispered word from the crowd that Princess and her party had returned without the tree. "Look, man, don't chickenshit out on me now. I voted to let you stay here. You'd be one of us, man. I know you lost everything when the bombs fell. I get that. We- almost every one of us here- lost everything more than once. You'll hear about it tonight, probably more than you want to. But like I said, you got balls. You belong here, with us. This? It's a bit of an initiation ritual. A rite of passage. You point, you fire, the tree gets blown to shit, and we party. Then... then you get your own Name."

"I have a name."

Nothing MacReady was saying made any sense.  
>Right?<p>

The mayor shook his head, "No... not the crap your parents gave you. I mean a _real_ name. Like MacReady. Or Princess. Or Red. Or Timebomb, Flash, Eclair, Zip, Knick, Knack, Paddy. A name that _means_ shit."

For several minutes as the crowd waited as quietly as a crowd could, Duncan wondered.

What did his name mean? Sure, it was his family's name. That meant something to him. So did Duncan, which was... well, it was his _name_. But he could see what MacReady was saying, kind of. The name his parents had given him was just that, a name. But it wasn't who he was. It wasn't... a Name.

Grimly, Duncan grabbed the heavy weapon and sat the padded rest on his shoulder.  
>Smiling now, MacReady directed him to crouch as he'd been doing, facing him in the direction of the hillside he'd walked down half-way between Arefu and Big Town a few days before. "Right," he instructed, "Now just pick out the tree- it's at the top of the hill if your eyes are crap- and put it right there in the crosshairs. The targeting computer will do the rest, you just have to pull the trigger, and Fat Man Day officially starts. Even more, you'll be one of us."<br>Duncan gulped.

They were definitely crazy, no doubt about that.

But so was he. Wasn't he? He'd be surprised to find out he wasn't.

So maybe he'd fit in? After all, his family was two centuries dead. Why not start a new one here?

He pulled the trigger.

And about a second after the canister-like ordnance disappeared into the sky, a huge portion of the horizon lit up like a Christmas tree for a few seconds.

The small mushroom-shaped cloud may not have been quite right for the season, but hey... it was Christmas, and Christmas is all about family.

Even if he'd just joined this one.

(O)(O)(O)

The entire town was gathered in the center of the village, the crossroads between Red's clinic, the "Clubhouse" where many of the newer or single residents shacked up until they found someone else to live with or built their own places, the "store" (which he was forbidden to enter for some reason), and the Mayor's House, where MacReady and Princess lived, along with their daughter, a two-year-old terror named Beans. He didn't want to know how the gassy menace had earned that name, but thought he might already when he'd held her the first time and she'd farted several times in the space of a few minutes, laughing the whole time.

They'd been telling stories around a large bonfire, educating Duncan and reminding each other of where they'd come from.

Duncan now knew MacReady had been right. Most of them had names before they'd arrived at Little Lamplight, the place most had come from. But those names meant nothing to the kids who'd become the leaders and citizens of Big Town. Most of them couldn't even remember those names. MacReady didn't. Princess did, but she flat-out refused to tell anyone what it was, and elbowed MacReady hard enough to knock him over when he said "Angela" to the crowd at large.

He learned that each of them, except those who'd moved to Big Town in the last ten years or been born there, like Beans, had lost their families for one reason or another, and then lost their second family in Little Lamplight when they turned sixteen. But this family, he learned, was as permanent as any they'd ever known, even if it hadn't lasted as long as Lamplight's for some. The Big Towners had fought, hard, for their security, alongside the Lone Wanderer, and they weren't going to give it up now.

Duncan understood.

If he'd had even a measure of that stability, he wouldn't want to give it up either. At least tonight he could pretend he had it.

So he listened, even took a turn when MacReady pointed at him, to tell them all his story. They listed raptly as he skimmed over what life had been like before the Bombs, some even cried when he talked about waking up and seeing the concrete where his sister had once been.

When he sat down, Duncan was stony-faced and numb.

He didn't notice, then, MacReady standing up solemnly. "When I got here right after I turned sixteen, Big Town was already doing pretty good. The Wanderer and many of you fought against the Muties, something us Lamplighters didn't even really ever think of doing. Since then, we've added a lot to our numbers. And it wasn't all me and Princess, either. You all worked hard to make Big Town the paradise we were told it was in Little Lamplight. And now it is. Today, our family grew again. Duncan Maddox, the crazy bastard, did the Fat Man ceremony today. He's like a newborn kid who don't know anything about the Wastes. He's got more guts than a Mutie, but twice as much brains. Not that that's saying much."

The crowd laughed, Duncan frowned. If these mutants were as stupid as people kept joking about, that wasn't saying much for his intelligence at all, which explained the laughter.

"But I think he belongs here. He's come a long way, longer than any of us ever did to get here. What do you guys think? Does he get to stay?"

Duncan's frown deepened. _I knew they weren't serious. Still, it was nice for a while to pretend._

Lots of hands flew into the air. Duncan, lost in returning despair, didn't notice.

At least, until MacReady heaved him to his feet without apparent strain. "All right, man. Way I see it you, got two choices to make. You can stay, or you can go. If you stay, you can stay forever. You'll be one of us, free to do your own thing, and we'll be your new family. If you go... well, some people like the Wastes. The second choice only matters if you stay."

Duncan's eyes swiveled around the crowd, scanning eyes in the darkness. Everyone was watching him, waiting for him to say something.

Red. Dusty. Princess. Timebomb. MacReady. They were all watching him, wondering what he'd say.

"I... I guess I can stay?"

No one seemed put off by his hesitant voice. Instead, they all began to cheer at once. Red, beaming, came up behind MacReady and slapped something small into his hand, closing his fingers around it. "That's from us all. A welcome to the family gift."

Duncan opened his hand. His eyes widened. He knew the number on the key very well. Even the name, which wasn't as scratched out as the one on the mailbox. Wallace, 385 Wiltshire St. Ozzie's house.

But MacReady didn't give him long to ponder that. Still with a hold on one of Duncan's shoulders, he spun him around to face the crowd, "What do you guys think? I got two names for this crazy Mungo here! He can be Ballsy, 'cause I don't know anyone better'n him for that name, or-"

Duncan shook his head, and said in a low voice, "I can't stay. I've... got someone I have to find. I have to keep walking."

Silence fell over the crowd.

And then a voice in the back whispered, "Walker."

Slowly at first, then with gathering speed, the crowd all picked up the chant, repeating it over and over.

MacReady shrugged, "Well, I guess that works. Walker it is. Welcome to Big Town, Walker."

Duncan nodded, not willing to argue it. He couldn't stay, he _had_ to find Amber. Before something bad happened. Something like the three Raider sisters.

But at least for tonight, he could afford to celebrate, right? Besides... maybe he could bring Amber back here when he found her.

Providing he didn't piss off the locals by blowing off their party, anyway.

**A/N2:** Hope you enjoyed the warm fuzzies. :) And Happy Horridays, whatever those mean to you. :)

They won't last forever- not even through the next chapter- but Duncan's starting to find his place in the new world, starting with a group of people who actually give a damn about him. Isn't that a rare thing even in this day and age? I imagine it'd be harder in the post-war world of Fallout. But then again, that's why Big Town does it this way. Strength in numbers applies to more than just numerical superiority- having a support structure makes a huge difference in countless ways, and MacReady, despite his relative youth (he's 23, 4ish years older than Duncan's body), gets that instinctively, so he's brought the community together in ways they never were before, even in Little Lamplight.

Anyway...

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Hate me for writing these events? Let me know! Reviewing is good for your soul. +Karma -Karma!


	7. Chapter 6: Mutant Melee

**A/N:** Heh, even longer than the last chapter- this one's 11(ish) pages. :) As you can see from the title... well, it's Duncan's first experience with them. It's not a pleasant one, but his had nice results anyway. I won't say too much more... this first arc is 1/3 of the way (again, ish) complete with this chapter.

Also, a word of warning. There's lemon-ish content in this one. I will try to warn people before it happens in the A/N, but I despise being pulled from a story by a 'lemon ahead' warning in-chapter. Don't expect that from me. And if I forget to warn you and you're offended... well, it's rated M for a reason. You probably shouldn't be reading it if it bothers you.

Lastly, yes, this is a few hours (or 13ish) earlier than my usual update- but it is the update for Sunday. I just don't want to get up that early on New Year's, so you get to read it early. Have fun with it! :)

Otherwise...

Enjoy!

**Chap. 6 Mutant Melee**

The smell of the old house was intense, but nothing that airing it out wouldn't at least help with, Duncan thought. Almost two weeks after he'd first arrived in Big Town, he'd been allowed to enter. At first, he'd been unconscious. He could hardly fault Red, MacReady, and Princess for wanting to keep him out of the ramshackle dwelling then, especially once he found out just how irradiated he'd been. Frankly, he was lucky he hadn't melted into goo.

The last week, however, had been taken up with other things. He had joined a scav team, lead by a gun-happy man named Flash, to the southwest to pick through the ruins for decent-condition furniture. That had taken almost three full days, since they'd had to lug a couch, a bed (with an almost-clean mattress Flash was jealous of), a kitchen table, three chairs- one of which was missing a leg- and an ancient refrigerator all by cart. That, of course, had to be drawn by hand, because Big Town, while one of the largest settlements in the area, did not have a large Brahmin stock. They just couldn't afford the risk to their meat and milk supply.

Another couple of days had been spent extending Big Town's wall in that direction. That had been a project Duncan was happy to help with, since it allowed him to work with his hands and start re-developing callouses there... no matter how much the blisters hurt.

They hadn't had to move it far, they could have gotten away with just walling in Duncan's new home, but MacReady had decided that they'd need room to expand soon anyway, so they may as well move the wall to cover the entire section of town. It had the only intact roads anyway, and the homes were in some of the best condition, despite not being much lived in over the last two centuries.

And that was something Duncan was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around. It could have just been a mistake in calculation, he knew, but something about the certainty the Big Towners used when telling him the date told him they weren't wrong, and they weren't lying. He really had been asleep for a little over two hundred years.

That his family and friends were all gone was, while painful, not so difficult to understand. He'd at least known the faces, if not the names, of several people in the neighborhood he'd grown up in. He knew their houses even better.  
>Seeing the blasted, burned-out remnants of the town had brought home the fact that they were gone like nothing else could have. Once it had sunk in, anyway, and that had taken a while.<p>

Still, rather than being in an unprotected house on the outskirts of town to the east of the town hall, the wall now stretched around twelve more houses than it had, and extended all the way to the rocky area on the edge of the Potomac's former course. Now, that course was twenty feet below and thirty feet out from the old shore. Duncan wasn't complaining about losing the riverfront property, though, given how much two quick dunks had irradiated him. Avoiding it completely sounded like a good idea, in fact, so being that extra thirty feet away sounded great.

As Duncan's eyes adjusted to the gloom, Red, who seemed to have taken more than a passing liking to the young man, waited patiently behind him, both just inside the door. "You recognize anything?"

He waited a bit longer to make sure he wouldn't miss much, then nodded. "The clock, the picture frame, even the fireplace. It's definitely the same place. They're long gone now, though."

Duncan heard Red shifting behind him as if she wanted to say something, but didn't know what. He ignored her, though, and stepped further into his new home. The couch before the fireplace and the aged television, which looked to have been shot several times, would both have to go. The fireplace, if it was usable, would help in the cold winters. Maybe it would be worth climbing up and checking the flue.

Duncan moved next into the kitchen, frowning. It stunk even worse in here, as if...

Yep, something _had_ died. A giant cockroach, as long as his forearm, appared to have gotten stuck in the door of the old fridge. The old Whirltool appliance had probably stopped working properly long before, but apparently it was still used for food storage, and the roach had been able to get in, somehow, only to get stuck on the way out.

He shuddered. Duncan was well used to roaches, but this one... well, it was huge! But at least it was dead, and he couldn't hear any others creeping around. No way something the size of a large cat would be as quiet as the inch-long ones he'd been familiar with before. "All this crap's gotta go," he said, mostly to himself, but Red nodded.

"Yeah, I'll get Kimba to organize a team and help you move stuff out. I'll be right back. You'd probably have to pay people to clean if you want, though. Nobody'd do that stuff for free."

Duncan nodded, already debating that himself. In the end, it came down to cost. He knew he was all right, financially, since he had more than a hundred caps and the house would be rent-free. It also wasn't like there were utilities or anything else to pay for. But how much would it cost to hire someone for more than a month to keep his house clean? What if it took longer to find Amber and bring her back here? _If she even wants to come back,_ he mused. _It's not like I have any claim to her. She barely knows me. Maybe that's why it's been so hard to find her. Maybe I remind her of Cheryl because she was Taylor's friend. Or maybe I'm just the annoying kid who hated her brother. But I gotta try. Don't I?_

With one hand on his pistol, Duncan carefully pulled open the fridge, dreading seeing more of the things crawling around. And smelling the rot, of course.

But it was clear of insects, only the foot-tall mushrooms- a florescent red- growing out of a pile of decomposed foodstuffs greeted him.

Well, that, and the roach falling on his foot. It didn't hurt, exactly, but there were things he'd rather have touching him than a giant roach, even through his boot. He kicked it aside, and, in frustration, slammed the door shut. There was a quiet _poof_ from inside the fridge, but Duncan ignored it.

Checking the cupboards and small pantry, he found several dishes for both cooking and eating, most of which was in decent shape. The glass and metal had weathered the centuries well. They were, however, uniformly filthy. _More work to do._

Moving on, Duncan passed a small bathroom with actual water in the toilet, though the sink and tub were both broken. Tentatively, he pushed the lever. It flushed.

Inwardly, Duncan was already cheering, though he only let a small smile show. _If the Big Towners knew I had a working toilet, MacReady would have this house for his own in a heartbeat._

He'd been spending the last few days at the Mayor and Princess' house, after all, and knew they had only a small, smelly outhouse- much like the rest of the town.

Past the bathroom and it's cracked, if functional, mirror, Duncan found three bedrooms. Two were smaller, obviously for guests or children. The left had been Ozzie's room, and for several minutes, he allowed himself to become lost in memories of playing board games on the floor, leafing through a girlie mag before his nosy sister had come in and found them. That had resulted in a rather severe punishment for both of them, and the confiscation of Ozzie's entire stash.

Lost in memories, Duncan carefully rooted around behind the bed for the loose section of wall. Something in the wall itself skittered away, but he paid it no mind.  
><em>There!<em>

Grinning, Duncan withdrew his hand. Seven magazines, including the ever-popular _Cat's Paw,_ and the less-well-known _Playtime_, _High-Riser_, and _Showcase_. A snicker from the doorway made Duncan drop the faded magazines, blushing furiously.

Red was standing there giggling at him, with one hand hiding her mouth. "If you found those that quick, I guess I _have_ to believe your story, don't I? Unless you're just using the male instinct to find them?"

Duncan scowled and turned away. She'd intended it in all fun, no doubt. Educated or not, Red was a woman with a good sense of humor who didn't take life- aside from medicine- too seriously. But she'd inadvertently reminded him of Taylor, when she'd interrupted he and his cousin in looking at his earlier stash.

And reminders of his sister were things he did not need.

"I just had to check. To make sure... I wasn't crazy."

She nodded, suddenly solemn. "Hey, Duncan... you know, you don't need that crap. If you want some company, all you have to do is ask."

Blushing even harder, he shook his head rapidly. "No! I mean... no. I... you're really pretty and all, Red, but... I just can't."

It was her turn to frown, though she did so with a sigh. "That friend of yours is a bit more than a friend, huh?"

Duncan froze. He'd certainly considered it. Amber was, after all, very pretty, and he was fourteen... well, two hundred and twenty-four, but who was counting? But would she even be interested? "I... no. She's not."

Red rolled her eyes, sighed again, and said in a would-be-casual tone, "Well, when you're done poking around, Kimba's got a team on the way to help you move things in and out. Cleaning you'll have to do yourself, 'cause I've got to get back to the clinic. Still, if things don't work out with your friend... You're a pretty cute guy, and not nearly as dumb as everyone else around here."

"Uh... t- thanks?"

How did you take a 'compliment' like that, anyway?

Still, even as Duncan finally started moving to pick up the scattered magazines, he heard Red mumbling about all the good men being taken before the door to the home shut unnecessarily loudly.

Working on auto-pilot, Duncan never even noticed he was still carrying around the stack of mags when he entered the master bedroom. Instead, he casually put them on the dresser and started going through the drawers of the large, wooden furniture. Likely, he would keep that.

It wasn't in perfect shape, but seemed to work fine. The drawers each slid out fairly easily, and seemed sturdy enough. The clothes, though, were moth-eaten or worse. They'd all have to go.

In the closet next to the dresser was a similar situation. Two dresses- that _might _fit Amber if he ever had cause to give them to her- and one business suit he distinctly remembered Ozzie's dad wearing once (it was hard to forget puke-green clothing) were all that remained, though he could see tatters of cloth piled high on the closet floor; the remains of less-durable outfits.

The bed was large, and comfortable enough (though it had long since been stripped of blankets), but there was the slight problem of the human-sized bloodstains on both sides. Nope, it had to go. The frame was stury enough, though, so he could probably keep that instead of the other, rusty one they'd scavenged. Maybe use a mattress from... no, not Ozzie's room. He knew why the mag stash had been so close to his bed, after all. Maybe from his sister's room. Two twins would fit a king sized frame, right?

Duncan sighed. Either way, there was a lot of work to do before he could leave Big Town after Amber.

(O)(O)(O)

Duncan flopped onto the bed, exhausted. The king-sized frame was leaning up against the wall, so he was on the usable twin bed they'd combined with the new (relatively) mattress and Ozzie's old frame. His sister's mattress had been infested with large rodents, so he was left with really only this one option. Sooner or later, though, he knew he'd be able to find or buy a second twin or a king-sized mattress to go on the larger frame.

The rest of the house was, while not clean, about five hundred times better than it had been. The 'new' furniture was moved in- the bed had been the last thing- and he'd arranged for Pest, who was apparently Kimba's little sister, to clean his house weekly. If she did a good job while he was gone (or if he didn't return in six months), she'd be allowed to live there while he was gone as well. That had been the teenage girl's idea; she felt her older sister's home was 'stifling' and 'restrictive'. Privately, Duncan wondered how the girl even knew such words. She'd probably picked them up from Bittercup, the craziest person- including Raiders- Duncan had yet to meet since leaving Vault One-Hundred.

Still, even the new fridge looked like it'd work, if he had power. The home's nuclear power source- installed before Ozzie's family had ever moved in- was gone, entirely missing. Doubtless it had survived, but someone had taken it instead. Duncan didn't have the know-how to hook up a new one if he found one, but there was probably someone in Big Town who did. Or maybe he could tie in to someone else's power... it wasn't like he would be around much lately.  
>How hard could it be to run a power line?<br>Maybe he could even get the old water heater, which he vaguely remembered had been electric, up and running. Maybe.

Duncan sighed. It had been a _really_ long couple of days. But now his backpack was once again ready for life on the road, and he had an official base of operations... or at least a place to crash when he got tired of wandering around looking for Amber. Maybe even a place to bring her back to. A part of Duncan couldn't even believe his luck. He'd started out with practically nothing. In the hole, even, considering what he'd lost.  
>Yet here he was, not even out of the Vault for a month, with a home- crappy and ancient as it was, it was still <em>his<em>- and enough money- caps- to pay for at least a month's worth of cleaning and upkeep. Maybe he'd be able to make it after all, in this crazy, deadly new world.

A sense of profound relief washed over him at the thought.

For the first time since he'd woken, Duncan actually allowed himself to relax.

As he slowly sank into the bed, his mind began to replay images, mostly of the last few days, but some from ages past.

Red, hitting on him. Or at least propositioning him. She was indeed pretty, if way too tall for him. Bittercup, despite being a nutcase, was smoking hot in a petite way, and she'd come on stronger even than Red when he'd first started moving in.

If it hadn't been for Flash, and Pappy, _and_ Timebomb's warnings about the girl, he'd probably have given in... and come out with some sort of disease.

There were also images of Daniella, the girl he'd thought he wanted to marry way back when. She'd been very nice, and while not extremely pretty, cute in a quiet way. She was probably gone now.

Of course, Amber. He barely knew her, true, but Vault-suits didn't exactly leave a lot to the imagination as far as figure went, and she had a great one. The fact that her eyes were his favorite shade of honey-brown didn't hurt, and that she at least had seemed to like him...

And of course, the girly mags. Some long-faded memories from the first time, when they'd been caught by his sister, and the newer glimpses he'd caught when Red had seen him pulling them out from the wall.

When Duncan woke the next day, there was a wet spot on the mattress, and a sticky mess in his new (purchased from Kimba, who ran the local 'store', mostly as a go-between for the town and the various trade caravans) black jeans. He still hadn't been able to find underwear.

He groaned in frustration as the early morning light filtered in through the still-boarded-up window. His morning condition was still going strong, so it must have been a while ago that he'd made the mess.  
>At least, he thought with a faint smile, the dreams- mostly featuring Amber- had been worth it, even if the guilt he felt at thinking about her that way didn't help.<p>

With a sigh, he stripped down to the skin and stepped into the bathroom, reveling in the privacy afforded by having _his own place_. He could walk from the bedroom to the bathroom totally naked without any worries someone would see the sticky, drying goo around his crotch. And that, he thought, was a wonderful thing.

The ancient sponge and tepid (but supposedly rad-free) water in the bucket that Princess had- with great relish- given him as a 'house warming gift' were not so clean when he finished with his quick sponge-bath.  
>Sure, it wasn't a hot shower with soap and shampoo, but it left him cleaner than he'd been since... well, probably since he'd left his Medi-Lounger.<p>

Of course, his 'exciting' night combined with washing himself carefully did nothing to help his 'condition'.  
>In fact, if anything, by the time he was done cleaning himself he was <em>worse<em> off.  
>Duncan gave another frustrated sigh before dropping the sponge into the bucket- it sloshed slightly onto the floor- then taking himself in hand.<p>

He hadn't gotten very far, aiming himself into the toilet, before he remembered...

He could make this go much faster with a little visual aid.

The fact that he could then _not_ feel guilty for thinking about Amber while rubbing one out was just a bonus.

Mind made up (besides, it was just after dawn, he had time...), Duncan quickly strode back to the bedroom, still idly stroking himself.

The stack was just where he'd left them, on the dresser. He grabbed two, which both happened to be Cat's Paws, and moved over to sit on the bed.

The pictures, while faded by the passing of many years, were still visible enough for his fourteen-year-old (was that even true, any more?) mind.

As a result, it didn't take long for the gooey mess to splatter all over one of the pages of the magazine, covering the red-head's face and tits.

He groaned in satisfaction and fell to the side, panting, for a few minutes before picking himself up, grabbing the sponge from the bathroom, and cleaning the mess. The long-dead red-head was really hot, and he'd probably enjoy doing this again later. Worth saving the image.

When Duncan actually got around to leaving Big Town an hour after dawn, there was no one to see him off.

That was probably a good thing, since if they had, they would probably have wondered what changed since the night before, when he'd been so grim and tired, and this morning's apparently chipper, stress-free Duncan.

(O)(O)(O)

Unfortunately, Duncan's good mood did not last long.

He had just finished crossing the bridge north across the Potomac, since Dusty had told him two days previously that the Brotherhood of Steel often crossed the river here and followed the north side as the river turned south to skip some of the more dangerous territory between Big Town and the town of Megaton, their last stop before going to their home base, which they called The Citadel.

Part of him thought it would be better for him to take the riskier, faster route, but his gut told him he'd find Amber sooner if he just traced their path.

But, as the green, caustic substance sizzled and hissed as it lay on the section of road Duncan had just about stepped onto, Duncan had to wonder if this was really the right choice. He hadn't even seen what-

_There_.

He'd already seen Deathclaws, zombies- what the Big Towners had called ghouls- giant flies, and crab-monsters. But this... this was a horror beyond any of them.

It was like a monster straight out of a nineteen-sixties horror film, only far more grotesque. It appeared to be stitched together from several different bodies, in a Frankenstein-ish way, but there didn't seem to be any stitching at all. It was as if the creature had _grown_ using eight hands- not feet- for legs, with three two-foot tentacles for tongues, which lashed angrily back and forth. And, of course, the gob of green acid it had just spat at him.

"What the fuck are _you_?" he asked, more to himself than the creature. It didn't respond verbally anyway while he pulled his pistol from the holster and took aim.

Human-like face or not, it had still tried to attack him, and, whatever it was, it was not human any more.

_Not,_ Duncan thought as he crouched to steady his aim, _that being human would stop me any more... it wouldn't be the first one I'd killed._

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three rounds all struck the thing's torso. He saw the flesh ripple, bleed slightly, and then close up through muscular action. One bullet, he saw, had even gone completely through it's ribcage to strike the road behind it. That larger hole did the same thing.

_Crap. Now what?_

Just before another gob of acid hit him, Duncan rolled to the side, abandoning his pistol for the moment. However, his bad luck continued to ride. The acidic attack had landed directly on top of the pistol, which, even keeping one eye on his attacker, Duncan could see immediately start to corrode and melt at high speed.

"Damn it," he groused, "That was my dad's! That's it... you're dead, whatever you are."

Fortunately, the thing, which continued to spit the goo at him while it approached, didn't cover ground very quickly, despite it's several arm-legs. They didn't appear to be very well coordinated. As a result, it was pretty simple for Duncan to turn and run backwards to gain some distance, occasionally lunging left or right as he went to keep it from hitting him with it's acid.

Fifty feet further back, Duncan stopped and turned, catching his breath for a moment, before shrugging off his backpack and pulling off the large, green cylinder, which was folded in half, before snapping it together and bringing it to his shoulder.

As soon as he'd done so, another hand idly reached into the depths of the pack and pulled out a smaller, red-tipped and finned cylinder, before sliding it into the larger one.

Glad he appeared to be out of the beast's range- he didn't want the acid destroying his backpack-, Duncan crouched once again and waited while the targeting system loaded.

As soon as the reticle appeared, he lined it up on the thing's feet and pulled the trigger.

With wide eyes, knowing he was about to see something he'd always wanted to as a boy, Duncan tried to memorize every detail of the smoke trail, the explosion- he'd hit dead-on, right below the thing- and even the gobs of bleeding flesh that scattered in every direction.

_Heh... this rocket launcher was _totally_ worth everything I traded for it!_

Good mood restored for the moment, Duncan disassembled the launcher and put his backpack back on. Casually, he reached for his pistol, wanting to be ready in case he was attacked again, only to remember...

_Damn_. His father's nine-millimeter pistol was worthless, now. It wasn't likely even a spring survived, much less the ammunition. The clip had melted to slag.

But Duncan was not the type to mope around, he would much rather be moving. So, last memento of his father or not, the young man shrugged, set his face in stern expression (he hoped), and tried to decide what weapon he'd be using until he could pick up another pistol.

_I have that baseball bat, the laser rifle but not much ammunition. The rocket launcher's awesome, but those missiles are expensive. Even with the bunch I picked up by the crab-thing, I don't want to waste them._

By the time Duncan had settled on the double-barreled shotgun he'd picked up from the woman who had almost killed the Deathclaw, it was past noon. Unfortunately, before he could reach for the squirrel-sticks Red had packed for him (Duncan was surprised, the first time, how tasty the stringy meat was. Rather like jerky, plus the occasional patch of fur), the sound of a crying woman caught his attention.

_Hell. Can I get a break? Please?_

Only after he asked the question did Duncan realize two things. Both that he sounded very whiny for just a moment (if only in his head), and that he had just come _off_ a break. One almost a week long.

His shoulders heaving in a massive sigh, Duncan drew the shotgun with his right hand and tightened the straps on his backpack with his left as he moved toward the only structure nearby, which, coincidentally, lay in the same direction from which he'd heard the crying.

As he closed on the dilapidated church (almost all of the roof and about a third of the walls were completely gone), Duncan noticed an old, weather-beaten and sun-faded sign. _Hallowed Moors Cemetary and Church_.

"Huh. Didn't they bury like, six Presidents here before the War?"

"I hear you... I hear you! _Stop hiding!_"

Duncan froze in his tracks. That... that was _not_ a friendly voice. It sounded, more or less, human. It spoke English, anyway. But it was somehow _wrong_. Not in the same sense that the many-limbed creature had been, but just as wrong all the same.

Worse, he could hear foot steps. Heavy ones, approaching his direction.

Whatever it was had about the mass of a Deathclaw.  
>But they were, by all accounts (except wild stories from the west) unintelligent, incapable of speech of any kind.<p>

The thing stopped on the other side of the sign, not five feet from Duncan's crouching form. His heart hammering in his chest, the young man waited for it to notice him. Doubtless, it wouldn't be that hard to hear his heartbeat, as loud as it was.

However, the creature, after several tense seconds, grumble to itself, "Ah well. I was hopin' for a fight..." before shuffling away.

It took thirty seconds for Duncan to work up the nerve to peek his head around the worn sign.

At once, he jerked back, moments before a high-caliber bullet whistled past him. The same voice yelled, "Found you! Ha ha ha ha!", just before the heavy thud of boots sprinted towards his position.

"Super Mutant. It's gotta be... it's _almost_ human, but... oh hell. No time for debates, Maddox, get your ass moving!"

Just before the rifle-bearing freak came around the sign, Duncan whipped around the far side. "Hey, where you go, puny human? I hungry!"

He was unable to repress the shudder. Apparently, Raiders weren't the only ones that ate people around here. As quietly as he could, Duncan crossed the length of the sign again and raised his shotgun to fire, point-blank, at the creature's mostly unprotected back.

The report was loud, and the kickback significantly stronger than either his pistol or even the rocket launcher. It threw him onto his back, which probably saved his life.

Because the Super Mutant- Duncan was certain this was one of them- was not even staggered by the several pellets shredding into it's back. The meaty fist that swung around in a backhand would have taken off his head, had he not been too low for that.  
>As it was, it punched a whole right through the sign, knocking even the four-by-four board holding it up flying away.<p>

For just a moment, Duncan's viewpoint froze. Adrenalin was suddenly playing heavily with his perceptions, to the point where it seemed the Mutant was moving extremely slowly, frame-by-frame rather than in 'play'. He took a moment to analyze his opponent, glad both for the extra time he seemed to have been granted, and the detachment the sudden influx of chemicals into his brain granted him.

Violence was always easier when you didn't worry about the results.

The shotgun barrel came up again, this time centered just below the thing's throat.

When he pulled the second trigger, the thick-tendoned, yellowish flesh ripped away, forcing the thing backwards several steps before it regained it's balance.

"Holy shit," he groused, rolling over, backpack still on, to bring himself to his feet quickly. "Is _nothing_ around here gonna die with just one shot?"

"Ow... neck hurt!"

The Mutant had dropped it's rifle, bringing both hands up to it's shredded neck.

It glared hatefully at Duncan for a moment, before keeling over onto it's back, twitching a few times, and then laying mostly still, though it's chest continued to rise and fall rapidly, laboriously.

"Sorry," he said to it as he walked up, "I don't take kindly to things trying to eat me."

The Mutant, if it understood him at all, didn't respond. The hatred didn't fade from it's eyes even after Duncan reloaded and stowed his shotgun, and took the baseball bat he'd kept from the three Raider sisters, smashing the thing's face several times, until it was unrecognizable.

It was several minutes before Duncan was able to calm down. The brief stint of ultra-violence over, he felt instead a great wash of fatigue. He could see why no one seemed to live out in the middle of nowhere. Banding together was probably the only way your average person could survive. Being alone, out in the wastes, was a good way to die.

He heard the crying again.

With a groan, Duncan pushed himself up off his knees, grabbing the monster's hunting rifle- a thirty-aught-six, he thought, and a different caliber than his own, or any ammunition he had- before checking it's magazine.

Three shots, and the Mutant hadn't any more that he could see. In fact, aside from the gun itself, most of it's gear would be useless to him. The boots, even, were cobbled together from several smaller ones. Still, the rifle had penetrating power his shotgun apparently hadn't. He strapped the smaller weapon to his pack again and loosened the strap on his own rifle. It would probably serve him better for now once the larger rifle was empty than his shotgun.

Because the sinking in Duncan's gut told him there were more of these things around.

"Fuck," he whispered, ducking back behind the entryway of the church.

His first glance was enough. There had been _three_ of the green-skinned hulks in there, and one of them, he was sure, had a minigun. He was wielding the squad-support weapon easily, like it weighed almost nothing, and gesturing for the two mutants- both smaller than him- to get the woman on the far end of the building 'ready to dip', whatever that meant.

The woman only began to cry harder, begging for release, or for them to just kill her and eat her.

Whatever 'dipping' meant, it must have been bad.

He couldn't just let her suffer that fate, could he?  
>Placing his own rifle on the ground so he could pick it up quickly, with the safety already off, he moved into position. The minigun would probably go right through the ancient wood of the church, so he'd have to do this from a prone position. More stability for his shooting would only help.<p>

Duncan took a deep breath, still low to the ground, and moved eight inches to the right.

_Sight, Aim a little lower for the kick, Exhale, Trigger._

Boom. Another headshot.

Duncan couldn't stop the malicious grin from spreading over his face as he watched the closest Mutant, one of the smaller ones, head explode.

Of course, that didn't stop him from moving. He had already ducked back behind the door when the mutants turned their bulbous, no-necked heads toward his door.  
>The larger, more brutish one, growled. "You find him! I guard female human."<p>

"I kill!" the other mutant answered, before sprinting to the far side of the church and firing into the distance.

Duncan had several seconds to wonder just how stupid these things were while it unloaded the clip from it's own rifle into the waste.

"I kill him!" the smaller Mutant- small being a relative term, since Duncan was sure it was over eight feet tall- said cheerfully.

"Good. Get ready for-"

The brute was interrupted by Duncan's rifle this time, since his body blocked the young man's view of the smaller mutant. The heavy bullet tore into his back just below the neck, and when the larger mutant turned to his position, he was able to see the nine-inch hole it had torn in his torso as it exited.

"We are unstoppable!" it groaned, raising the minigun.

In horror, Duncan had to wonder if that was true. There was no way a human could survive a hole that large in the center of it's chest. But despite the copious amounts of blood pouring from the hole, it seemed to be standing tall.

The smaller one lumbered from behind the larger, raising it's rifle like a club over it's head, as the minigun began to spool up.

Again, for a brief moment, time seemed to stand still.

Bang.

The smaller mutant fell back, rifle spinning end-over-end, a clean wound going in it's right eye, taking most of it's head with it as the bullet ricocheted around in it's skull before leaving out the top.

Tracer rounds began to flash from the minigun's six barrels, moving toward him no faster than a thrown rock.

Duncan had time, since the thing's aim was high and to it's left, to fire off the last round of the larger rifle before throwing himself left, prone on the ground.

He didn't see what he'd struck, but heard it, and heard the monster grunt with pain.

"That's it, human. I was gonna kill you quick, but now you get to suffer!"

Despite the gaping hole in it's torso, the thing was quick, far faster than the smaller one had been. It was to the doorway before Duncan had grabbed and raised his own rifle.

All he'd be able to hit would be it's feet, it was just too close. His torso didn't bend that far up.

Suddenly, he was jerked up into the air.

The brute had grabbed his backpack one-handed and hauled him up with no more difficulty than his dad had picked Taylor up when she was one.  
>Rancid, fetid breath washed over Duncan. The thing's teeth, twice the size of a normal person's, were green and rotting. That probably didn't help. Nor, he thought for a moment, did the bits of flesh stuck in them.<br>"It's dipping for you. You tough... I make you suffer. You be one of us!"

An involuntary shudder rushed through him. So that's what 'dipping' was. It was somehow related to making more of the Super Mutants.

Duncan could see, now, why the woman had preferred to be eaten. "You're forgetting something, chum," he growled, doing his best to sound intimidating when his feet were dangling two and a half feet off the ground.

"What that, little human?"

"You didn't take my gun away."

The beast looked downward to the space between them just in time to catch his rifle's bullet in the mouth.

The thirty-aught might have been a larger bullet, and a soft-tip to increase flesh damage, but his

.308 rounds were jacketed for penetration. It wasn't quite as large a hole, but it ripped clean through the thing's skull from top to bottom and front to back without losing much in the way of speed. In fact, the bullet was still moving rapidly when it struck the bell in the church's steeple with a loud _clang_.

"We... are... the..." it moaned, already slumping to the ground.

It was a testament to the thing's determination and strength that Duncan was deposited almost gently on his feet, rather than dropped like any human would have been with a bullet to it's brain.

"Hey, you! Can you help me, please? I don't want to get dipped! Thank you for killing those things, but I can't get out, I'm tied up!"

Duncan was brought out of his adrenaline-rush by the woman's worried, terrified voice.  
>"Hold on," he answered, "I gotta check for any more real quick. Just sit tight."<p>

She immediately started sobbing about how cruel he was to kill the mutants but leave her tied up.

The woman was still crying while Duncan vomited three times upon coming across the netting-bags of mixed meat-and-bones (he was sure most came from humans), which had, apparently, been left to rot in the sun judging by the smell.

She was laying on her side on a cardboard 'bed', whimpering, when he sneaked in through the hole at the back of the church the second smaller Mutant had unloaded his clip through. The area was clear, he could afford to relax just a little, get the woman free.

"Hold on," he said quietly, "I'm untying you now. Don't freak out."

She froze. "Are... are you a Raider?"

Duncan spat in indignation, "Hell no!" he yelled, "I'm _not_ a Raider. I'm not raping you and killing you, am I?"

As the ropes fell away under the newly sharpened edge of his combat knife, the woman jerked away, crab-walking back to hide in the church's small bathroom. "Are you?"

Her voice trembled.

Duncan took a few moments to watch her calmly as he slipped the knife back into it's booth sheath. She was tall, almost as tall as him, but not as tall as Red by a long shot. Her skin was even darker, almost black, but her hair was silver-white. Despite that, the woman didn't seem to be very old, maybe a couple years older than him. Her clothing was ratty and worn, and she was unarmed. Likely, she wouldn't last long if he didn't help her out more. But then again... Big Town wasn't far away, just across the river, and he'd just killed what lay between them...  
>But no. He had survived largely through the generosity of others.<p>

He would have to help her out as much as he could.

"Look, my name's Duncan. I'm not gonna hurt you. What's your name?"

"S- Stitch."

_Another odd name._  
>"Where you from, Stitch?"<p>

"South. I came from The Citadel."  
>Duncan nodded, "Heard of it, never been. You one of the Brotherhood?"<p>

She nodded, "Is that a problem?"

He shook his head. "I came from... from way before the day before yesterday."

The woman giggled. It was a pleasant enough sound, but Duncan, for the first time, seemed not to be interested in the woman physically.  
>Maybe he was finally getting used to his hormones, and not every woman he came across would make him think... well, about <em>that<em>.  
>He stood, offering a hand. She flinched back, but took it hesitantly as he approached. "I'm really not going to hurt you," he said as he pulled her to her feet.<br>She winced, then staggered, clearly she'd been tied up for a long time, given the welts on her wrists and ankles, and the swelling in her hands and feet.

"Let's get you some gear so you can survive the trip, then I'm gonna get you on your way."

She nodded. "The Muties, they took all my stuff. I was able to salvage a few chems. You can have them for saving me, if you want."

He shook his head. Chems weren't his thing. "No, you keep them. You'll probably need them more. Listen... help me search the church, okay? I don't wanna be here if any of those things come back from a patrol or whatever.

She nodded, suddenly worried.

Several minutes later, Duncan, with a great deal of trepidation, packed another Micro-Nuke into his backpack, padding it from the other with a Big Book of Science he'd found in the podium.

The rifle the smaller Mutant had emptied into the wastes Duncan had given the woman, who had explained it was actually hers. On that same monstrosity, they had found twenty-six rounds, which she loaded happily, before throwing the strap over her shoulder. "Had a plasma pistol, but the thing broke. That's how I got caught, I'd have fought to the death if I could. Bastards killed the rest of my patrol. Even with our Power Armor and good weapons, we just got... overwhelmed."

That threw Duncan for a loop. The things were stronger than a Power Armor wearing soldier? "Wait, you mentioned a patrol. Was it a patrol that had a civilian girl? Brown hair, Vault-suit, number one hundred?"

She shook her head, "No, but I saw that convoy about a week ago. They were heading east. We relayed new orders for them before they headed back home. They had a brunette with them, but she wasn't wearing a Vault-suit that I saw."

Nodding, Duncan pressed, "Where were they headed? It had to be her."

The woman's eyes narrowed, "Look, man, I'm grateful for you saving my ass, but I can't give away military secrets like mission orders."

"I don't give a damn about your mission!" he suddenly shouted, "I just want to find my friend!"

Ignoring the rifle the woman had suddenly leveled at him, he threw the object- he thought distantly it might have been a dose of Psycho- at the nearest wall. It shattered.

"Calm down. I'd hate to have to shoot my savior."

The woman's stern tone helped bring him back from the madness he could feel creeping in.  
>It had all been too much.<p>

Everything that had happened since that enjoyable afternoon in the arcade...

But for now, he was still himself.  
>"Sorry. I just... she's the only thing I have left from home. I just have to find her. Please?"<p>

The soldier shrugged, "Whatever. Even if you can fight, I doubt you'd be able to take on a whole patrol or threaten our op anyway. They're headed to reinforce the Canterbury Trading Post. It's had several large raider attacks lately."

Duncan smiled, "Thanks. So... where's the Post?"

It took her the remaining twenty minutes they spent searching the church (Duncan was very happy to see her come out with six frag grenades- three of which she gave to him) to give him directions he thought he might be able to follow.

As he and Stitch parted ways, he to the east and the soldier to the south, Duncan's good mood was once again restored.

No more idle wandering... he had a real, solid lead, and a definite trail.

_I'm coming, Amber. Hold on._

**A/N2:** You like? Let me know!

Stitch will have some small bearing on the story much later, but is a minor character overall. Yes, she's a 'wasteland captive', but... there's no mention of where said captives do or do not come from. It's entirely possible a BoS patrol could get overwhelmed. In fact, that's likely, given how skilled some of the more advanced Mutants (Masters, Overlords, etc) are with energy weapons.

The bit about dead presidents... purely fanon (as far as I know). Hallowed Moors doesn't seem to exist in real life, at least as far as my cursory check revealed, so I doubt there's real presidents buried there. And no, it's not important at all.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Hate me for writing these events? Let me know! Reviewing is good for your soul. +Karma -Karma! And EVERYONE loves good karma! (Don't they?)


	8. Chapter 7: Not so Lonesome Dove

**A/N:** Heh, as longas the last chapter- this one's 11(ish) pages too. Might even make it worth the wait between them. :) Some good things (rare, aren't they?) happen for Duncan this time- even though he's not sure about most of them at the time.

And yes, the title is another powerful hint as to what... but no, we won't be seeing Amber for a few more chapters yet. :)

Enjoy!

**Edit:** Apologies... but it's not my fault. This chapter was a decent length (5+pgs) before I finished it off, I could have posted as-is. _However_, due to FFnet not allowing me to even log on (or respond to reviews, so sorry about the delays there... or favorite stories, etc etc...) I haven't been able to post. Totally not my fault, though I still apologize. I'll have it up ASAP.

**Chap. 7 Not so Lonesome Dove**

Duncan had only left the Hallowed Moors cemetery and the Brotherhood soldier he'd freed behind ten minutes before when he, quite literally, ran into trouble again.

He'd just skirted a small rock formation, and put his hand on a stumpy tree to peek around it in an effort to _not _be caught unawares by any more of the Super Mutants he'd seen around the cemetery.

Unfortunately for him, it was at that precise moment that the tree moved.

"Tong, you feel that?"

The voice was low, guttural, and right above Duncan. It wasn't quite the same as any of the other Mutant's screams, but he knew right away that it was, indeed, one of the same 'species'. He withdrew his hand at once and started crab-walking backwards with one hand, while drawing his shotgun with the other.

Whoever or whatever "Tong" was, Duncan didn't want to know. Fortunately for him, the Mutant he'd touched was facing the other direction, and the contact had been light enough that it didn't apparently register as a threat... for the moment, at least.

"You find it, Tong. Find what touch leg. Kill!"

Duncan was only about five, maybe six, feet away when the command was uttered. At once, he rolled over, rose to his feet, and started sprinting away around the rocks.

"I see you, _human_! Tong and Mash will eat your hands!"

Fortunately, the Mutant didn't seem to be armed with any of the ranged weapons those he'd met earlier had. At least, there were no gunshots as he made a tactical withdrawal.  
>Duncan flew past a small chimney in the rocks, paused, and jerked back into it before using the narrow sides to shimmy upwards. If he could get up out of the reach of Mash and Tongs, he might just be able to handle them both easily...<p>

He made it. The Mutant had only just come around that edge of the rocks, with a wooden board covered in nails on one end, when Duncan's last leg slithered up out of the chimney onto the top of the rocks. Duncan risked glancing over, but withdrew his head at once. The nail-board had crashed into the rocks less than six inches below his face.

He was up above the Mutant, yes, but if it started climbing... or if it had any kind of ranged weapon, he was probably a dead man.

"Tong! Human go up high! You spit at him!"

_Crap... spit? Is it one of those... those _things_ again?_

Duncan groaned when he saw the pink, fleshy hands and long tongues of the creature come into view next to the Mutant. At once, it hissed passed it's six tongues- three more, he noted, than the first one he'd seen had- and began hacking and coughing, as if it's throat was full of phlegm.

Duncan only just ducked in time; this one launched it's acidic goo quite a lot faster than his previous encounter with the hideously mutated creatures had. As it was, he could still hear and feel a light sizzle that small droplets had made on the shoulder of his new (very relatively new) t-shirt. It was probably beyond worthless, now. He should just suck it up and find some good armor, like what Kimba or Dusty had... if he lived long enough to do so.

"Tong, you spit bad. I show you how!"

Duncan would have laughed at the Mutant's attempt to hit him with it's own loogie, were he a little more experienced. But he wasn't, and wasn't quite sure if the thing _could_ spit the same kind of acid. So he took cover, only to grimace at himself, glad no one was watching, when an audible splat struck the rock several feet below him. "That how! You spit that way, Tong!"

The creature, whatever it was, gave a low whine, and spit again. This time, the goo sailed clear over Duncan's prone form, far enough he didn't even hear it land. _Wow. I'm glad the first one didn't have that kind of range... I'd have been toast!_

_Come to think, I might still be. I can't use the rocket launcher at this range, I'm out of rounds for the big rifle, and my pistol barely even hurt the last one. Would... the shotgun work?_

It was worth a try; it wasn't like Duncan had many more options. He loaded two shells after unsnapping it from it's holster-strap and moved up to a crouch. He wanted to be able to duck out, fire, and duck back before the pink monstrosity could draw a bead at him.

It wasn't like the thing seemed to be running out of it's green saliva- or whatever- anyway.

_Safety off... right. Aim low... Bang._

He'd missed, but had also unloaded both barrels. A moment before he ducked back, he was pleased to see both the pink thing and the Mutant get a face full of buckshot. At least the green one staggered slightly.

"That it! Human die now! Tong, you climb up and eat human! No more spitting! It spit hurts more!"

Duncan snorted. It truly _was_ stupid... in a way. Obviously, it was smart enough to communicate with the... thing. It could give orders, if crude ones. It even had a rudimentary grasp of tactics. But it hadn't yet figured out it could probably climb up itself.

Still, several slapping sounds were heard, and Duncan frowned. It almost sounded like the hands were coming up the...

_Oh shit. It _is_ climbing up! _

Frantically looking around, the former Vault-dweller scanned the rocks. It was about twelve feet on a side, and the lowest drop- the far side- was about nine feet. He would, if necessary, be able to jump down and run, as long as he came down safely. Or...

_Or you can use the advantages you have. Buckshot at range hurts, but buckshot at close range disintegrates. That's what you said, right, dad?_

Resolutely, hoping this plan wouldn't get him killed, Duncan reloaded the shotgun, ready to give the thing both barrels from a lot closer this time.

He peeked out over the chimney once, about five seconds later, and jerked back again. It was almost all the way up, moving faster than he had. Apparently the hands were better suited for vertical movement than horizontal.

Duncan took two steps back, crouched again, and aimed. As soon as the head appeared...

_Boom_.

The double-crack of the shotgun made Duncan jerk backwards again, though he was more prepared and didn't fall. A moment later, a soft, wet thump was heard.

"Tong! You not dead! I not let you be dead! You my friend, Mutant's best friend!"

The tone made Duncan pause.

Clearly, despite the animalistic, almost bestial nature he'd seen in the Super Mutants so far, they were still capable- somewhat, anyway- of feeling sorrow and remorse. Even affection, apparently.

Just... not for humans.

"Sorry I killed your pet, or whatever, but you tried to kill me first!" he called down to the Mutant, watching over the edge as it knelt next to the pink corpse.

It was still twitching spasmodically, but it's head, six tongues and all, was essentially gone. Duncan nodded to himself with satisfaction and withdrew his rifle, taking the time to reload and re-strap the shotgun as he did so.

He'd just gotten the rifle out and ready to fire when the Mutant turned his face up to stare at the young man.

Duncan recoiled. He had never seen a face so full of righteous loathing...

"I kill human!" It's roar was very loud, and it lunged upwards, straight at him.

The thing's muscles must have been truly powerful, because even so far below him, it was able to get it's shoulders up onto the ledge in a single jump. It hadn't, fortunately, reached him yet. Instead, it continued to snarl while it's feet scrabbled for purchase.

Duncan, forcing himself to remain as calm as possible, nodded once to assure himself he was doing the right thing, and pulled the trigger.

The Mutant's nose disappeared.  
>Again.<p>

It's throat was half-gone, but it still came after him, if a little weaker.

One more.

Left eye. No more struggle. Instead, he heard it whine, almost piteously, "Why you... kill... Tong...", before slipping down the chimney to land atop it's 'pet'.

Having learned his lesson from earlier encounters, Duncan immediately started scanning the area, out to the horizon, while reloading the .32 rifle as quickly as possible.

Nothing... he seemed to be clear.  
>To the north, a long way off, were a few small smokestacks, some kind of plant. To the east was a train yard, though it was mostly wrecked. Several cargo cars were laying around the area, but they looked like a decent place to rest for the night if he needed to. It'd take an hour or two to reach anyway, from what he could tell of the surrounding terrain.<p>

To the south was the river, though it was already turning further south itself. West was the direction he'd come from, so no use checking there...

Nope. Having checked anyway, just to be safe, Duncan found no sign of pursuit.

_The train yard it is. After I see if that Mutant had anything useful, anyway. Take what you kill, Law of the Wastes. Sounds mean, heartless even, but damn it if it doesn't make sense in a world like this._

(O)(O)(O)

It was a surprisingly peaceful, almost relaxing, hike up the hill toward the train station. In fact, Duncan had actually put the safety on the shotgun back on, though he didn't holster it. Not having an actual holster for the short-barelled weapon made it difficult, and while he'd been lucky so far, removing weapons from the straps holding them to his backpack was not something he liked doing in combat.

He was covering ground at a brisk pace, breathing hard, but not excessively, when he crested the hill and got his first view of the yard.

Over a dozen cargo cars were strewn over a few hundred yards, about half overturned. There were no engines he could see, only one cargo box-car after another, in faded yellow or washed-out orange. Or maybe that was just rust.

To his right, the twin buildings where the rails ran underground before reaching the main switch yard further south were a couple dozen yards away. Duncan took in a deep breath, checked the sun (almost mid-afternoon, if he had his directions and time of year right), and started moving again.  
>Before he'd taken more than a few steps, though, loud noises to the southeast sent him ducking for cover behind the closest boxcar.<p>

"Damn it, Reggie, I ain't goin' that way! The damned merc said it was that'a'way, so we gotta go that route! Ain't no good tryin' further east, that's fuckin' Slaver territory anyhow!"

The voice was male, human, if a little rough. Nothing like the Mutants he'd heard earlier that day, though. The answering voice was also human, but female. Cold, hard.

"Suck it up, Wally. Slavers don't bother Mercs 'less they're hurt, and we ain't hurt! We'll be fine. I don't wanna take an extra four days to find this magic tree-place, if it even exists!"

The voices were getting closer as they argued. Duncan flicked off the safety, and hopped up on the slightly-twisted connector of the cargo car. He exhaled slightly in relief that it didn't bounce noticably; likely the struts and shocks had fused with the passing years.

The first voice again, "Fuck, Reg! You wanna get caught by them Paradise Falls crews and get raped fifty times afore ya even get to the camp? Huh? I'm tellin' ya, it's safer ta go westerly!"

The woman growled and hissed, but before she could retort, a third voice, another male, but much calmer, interrupted. "The client asked for speed. We go east. If Reg gets caught, it's her own tight ass on the line. I don't wanna hear no more about it. We stick to the plan, though. Get to Oasis, take what we can, get back to the client."

Just then, the trio cleared the end of the car. The first two passed by without noticing Duncan, but the third took half a step beyond the car before turning and crouching at the same time as drawing a rifle and aiming it directly between Duncan's eyes.

"Hey, Kid... you might wanna be puttin' that shotgun down before we get all... annoyed."

"Lower yours, and I'll lower mine. Nice and slow. I don't want trouble, but I'm not lettin' you get the first shot off if you want some."

By this time, the other two had drawn their own weapons and leveled them at Duncan. The apparent leader smirked, "Kid, you know you aren't gonna last if you keep that 'tude of yours. Lower it. _Now_."

Duncan was unable to keep himself from flinching at the cold tone, but his shotgun didn't waver. "No. Same time, or I start shooting. I've been through too much shit lately to be in the mood to be nice here."

The strangers hesitated a moment before the leader nodded slowly, "All right. On three, then. One... two..."

The woman made a sudden move, and Duncan pulled the trigger.

Out of the corner of his eye, he wasn't able to see clearly what she'd done, but he was entirely too tense to care. For that brief moment, he was more concerned with the leader, who had been blown backwards, missing large portions of his torso, to land several feet away, half-against another box-car.

The other male growled and fired, but the shot only tore into the rusty metal over Duncan's shoulders. The woman, though, didn't draw the small pistol on her belt. Instead, she'd drawn a two-foot length of lead pipe capped by a t-joint, each with another end-cap on it. She swung it wildly across, and would have struck him in the nose, had the kick from the shotgun not knocked him backwards off the train-car coupling.

The impact of the ground knocked the wind out of Duncan, but he was able to focus long enough to readjust his aim and fire at the larger threat. The second barrel was, more through luck than anything else, pointed right at the other man's neck, so by the time the shell left the barrel, it went straight for his face.  
>After the echo had passed from the narrow space between the box-cars, the man slumped to the ground, missing most of his head.<p>

The woman, though, seemed undeterred. Far more quickly than Duncan would have expected, she jumped directly over the coupling with an overhead swing. She'd have, again, hit him in the face, but this time it was purely reflex that saved him. His head jerked left, and the heavy pipe grazed against his right ear on the way by. "You little _bitch_!" she cried, "You got any idea how hard it is to find a crew that'll take on a woman? Huh?"

"No fuckin' idea, lady. Don't give a damn. Back off, I don't wanna have to kill you, too."

The woman, perhaps remembering that he had already unloaded both barrels, or perhaps from sheer arrogance, sneered while bringing back the lead pipe for another strike. "Fuck you, kid. You can't handle even me, you just got lucky with Fade, and Wally's a punk-ass-bitch. In fact, I got you right where I-"

She whimpered, then fell sideways against the boxcar, allowing Duncan to roll away. He'd gotten his fingers around the baseball bat and yanked it as hard as he could out of the strap and across her chin. It'd been a glancing blow, he knew, but had to have hurt badly.

Scrambling to his feet as she did the same, Duncan scowled. "Look, lady, I don't know what your problem is, but your friends are dead. I got no beef with you. Get the hell out of here, and you can live."

The woman elected to risk her life again. Duncan privately thought the risk might not have been as great as he'd expected, because now that she was aware he could actually handle himself, had quit screwing around. That in and of itself wouldn't have been that bad, because even with no real muscle mass, Duncan still had a foot or more height and fifty or more pounds on her.  
>But she was fast, wickedly fast, and it was all he could do to bring the baseball bat up to block the first and second swings of the pipe.<p>

The third, a quick jab he hadn't been ready for, slipped between the bat and his arm to bruise his ribs. At least, he mused in his mid-combat adrenalin-enduced time dilation, the ribs didn't sound or feel broken. He could breathe, at least.

In retaliation, he brought his knee up, trying to get her between the legs. Unfortunately, he'd misjudged her height, and got her in the gut instead. It wasn't hard enough to wind her, but it forced the woman back far enough for his bat to be effective again. Before she could recover, he swung.

With a sharp crack, it connected.

The woman fell sharply.

He raised the bat again, just in case, but she didn't stir aside from a feeble groan. After a minute of silence, Duncan sighed and allowed himself to relax.

Unwilling to prove himself a total bastard, Duncan had checked the woman's pulse, found it strong, and then moved to both of the men. He could, at least, put them out of their misery if they were, somehow, still breathing.

Since they weren't, he went to work stripping them of anything useful. Unfortunately, as his gaze went to the unconscious woman, he felt a surprisingly strong twing of compassion. "Can't just leave you here like that Raider, can I? Damn... what the hell am I gonna do with you?"

It took several minutes for him to work out what he was going to do, and another fifteen to do it. He'd drug the woman, Reggie, he thought, over to the shaded area beneath the buildings where the rail lines went underground, and left her braced against the doorway, with her pipe in one hand and her pistol, still loaded, in the other. In fact, he left her gear alone, and only took half of what he could have from the other two men. He left the ruined armor of the first, folded up the damaged but not worthless armor of the now-headless corpse next to her, and left all of the weapons, but took the ammunition he could use. It wasn't much, just a few rifle rounds from the leader, and a few wads of pre-war bills, as well as almost a hundred caps between them. The 'mission orders' he left with Reggie, just in case she wanted, for some reason, to continue. He could barely read the illegible scrawl by "Tokana" anyway.

He was just putting the finishing touches on the pile of equipment he was leaving for the woman to help her out with her own difficulties when she woke up, when he spotted the sign on the door above the woman.

_Maresti Train Yard and Switching Station. No public admittance. Authorized personnel only._

That name sounded familiar.  
>Maresti... Maresti... it was something he'd heard after coming out of the Vault. After he left his family...<p>

Family. "Shit! I gotta get the fuck out of here! If these guys are Family..."

Duncan started running the next moment, and didn't stop until he'd crested the hill to the east, after having scrambled straight up the near-vertical rock face. Hopefully now he'd have at least some cover if he'd been spotted, or the woman woke up...

(O)(O)(O)

"Helloooo! You there! Can you help me, please?"

The call immediately caused Duncan to draw his rifle and aim it up the hill to the north, where a weathered radio tower stood. Standing on a rope bridge between that hill and another, smaller, but even rockier one, stood an old woman in a gray shift. She was waving slowly, looking straight at him.  
>"Trap... could be a trap. Can't go up that quickly, can't go into the ravine for sure. Perfect ambush spot."<p>

Yet, the woman didn't seem worried, gleeful, or even concerned. She seemed... normal. Content, although apparently she did need help with something. "What- What do you need help with?" he called.

A few seconds later, the woman pointed up at the tower, "The transmitter came loose in the last storm a few weeks ago, and I haven't been able to climb up there to fix it! Can I ask you to? I'll pay you, of course, though I don't have much!"

Duncan's eyes narrowed slightly, though he still wasn't terribly concerned. The offer of pay seemed to make it both more and less likely that it was a trap. Yet, a second glance at the tower showed that the small dish on the rusty old tower was, indeed, hanging askew, swaying slightly in the breeze. "I can try, maybe! How can I get up there _without_ going through an ambush-spot, though?"

The elderly woman chuckled, but gestured back the way he'd come, "Just go 'round the hill there and follow the slope up, young man! I'll have some coffee ready for you too, just come right on in! Best leave your weapon holstered, though. I'm an old lady living by her own for too long, and I've gotten a might jumpy in my years!"

Satisfied that the woman was neither totally harmless or planning an overt attack, Duncan lowered his rifle once more and turned back the way he'd come, keeping eyes, ears, and nose peeled in case there were Raiders or worse up there, skulking around in the rocks.

However, when he reached the bridge the old woman had been standing on, he found exactly what she'd said he would. Just her own weathered features and the gently swaying rope-and-wood bridge itself. Duncan was at first hesitant to cross, not only because he'd seen too many holofilms involving plummets to the death due to rickety bridges just like this (but made of materials several hundred years newer at the time), but because it had occurred to him that, despite the woman's apparently sincere smile as she waited on the far side of the bridge for him, that the bridge itself was a prime spot for ambush. It was narrow, not something he could safely sprint down in one direction or the other, and he could see just a hint of a structure behind the wall of the cliff beside the old woman. There could have been a dozen men back there for all he knew.

But even as his heart thudded in his chest, Duncan moved forward. He was no coward, and didn't _really_ think the old woman was luring him into a trap, but he'd been living pretty high-strung ever since he'd woken up in the Vault to see his sister, and almost everyone else inside, dead.

Still, even though his finger was on the trigger of the .32 rifle, the fact that the old woman had preceded him across the bridge once they'd met up assured him.

He wouldn't put it past raiders or worse to fire upon her as well, but she seemed so relaxed about it all that he just didn't think he had any real reason to worry.

Those feelings were confirmed for the most part when the pair crossed the bridge. The house itself sat in the back of a small hollow, with the radio tower and bridge- the only possible entrance without scaling the rocky cliffs- on the other. "It's just up there, dear. I've got a small ladder inside the house to get you started, but it only reaches about half-way. Let me hand you a few screws and the driver, too, before you go up."

He nodded absently, already staring upwards. Duncan was still careful to scan as much of the shack's interior as possible when the old woman went inside. It would've been foolish of him to assume ambushers couldn't be hidden inside, even if the hollow itself was clear.

When the woman returned, she guided him to a pair of small indents were worn in the hard-packed ground. The ladder appeared hand-made and a bit old, but still sturdy. Duncan was surprised to see actual iron nails, something that was rare in the bits of construction he'd seen since waking up. After the ladder was placed, he checked it twice for stability before taking the flat-head screwdriver and six screws, each as long as his middle finger, and slowly began climbing upwards. He hadn't said a word to the woman since arriving in the hollow, but she didn't seem to mind.

In fact, she had been chattering endlessly. It actually worried him a bit; doubtless she was a little... off, after spending what was probably several years alone. Still, he doubted she was violent. Like him, one hand stayed near her side-arm, but her easy smile and the wrinkles around her eyes, wrinkles that reminded him of his grandmother on his mother's side, who had always been a laugher.

But as he worked one-handed (the other keeping a careful grip on the upper sections of the tower once he got higher than the ladder would allow), he was able to hear quite easily over the whistling of the breeze in the tower, the woman's name, Agatha, her deceased husband's name, George, seven children, eighteen grandchildren, five cousins, and that each of them, in both of the younger generations, had inherited from her side of the family a great love of music and song. So much so that, even scattered as they were now throughout the Wastes, each was known at least locally as a prime entertainer.

As he was screwing in the last bolt, the one which had actually broken first, judging by the amount of rust on the remnants, Duncan casually asked what her talent lay in musically.

He regretted it at once, of course.

By the time he'd climbed down, five minutes later, he had learned that the Wasteland's great savior, "The Lone Wanderer", whose name she had never heard though she'd met the young woman twice before her untimely death. In fact, Agatha was happy to proclaim, the hero's second visit had been made with the sole purpose of helping out an old woman with a lifelong dream, despite having to battle hideous monsters, including, according to what Agatha had been told by the Wanderer herself, Deathclaws.

It was that visit that, she explained, had renewed the purpose for the radio tower. Because it was then that the Wanderer had given to her something an ancestor of hers- she believed a great-great- grandmother- had carried with her upon entering Vault Ninety-Two. In fact, ignoring Duncan's grimace, Agatha insisted he allow her to play for him as thanks.

His repeated statements that he wanted _payment_ as thanks apparently fell on deaf ears.

However, after the young man had followed the old woman into the house, his eyes widened. Because no matter how strange, how unbelievable, Agatha's story had been, the case sitting on the table nearest what was obviously the recording station (judging by the radio equipment, the music stand, and chair were strong clues), were undeniable proof.  
>"That's..."<p>

She nodded, smiling, "The _Soil Stradivarius_. Yes, that's it... the very same. It's very old, and absolutely priceless... but only worth something if you can play it, of course."

He nodded, numb. Weapons and some buildings were one thing, but this... he'd never been a fan of classical music (what fourteen-year-old was?), but he could understand the artistry that went into not just the music, or the skill with which it was played, but the very instruments... at least, instruments like he could see through the barely-scratched window into the case itself.

"So... are you more interested in hearing it now?"

He jerked, and looked up to the old woman's knowing smile. He turned a little red, but nodded. "S- Sure."

Agatha smiled widely and moved over to the case, putting in a four-digit passcode into the digital lock before pulling it and the bow reverently out. "The Wanderer, bless her, told me to be careful with it, too... that it was worth more than even I thought. I didn't really believe that, but a few months after I heard old Three-Dog mention how she'd died, I heard him also say that her Pib-boy's radio was playing my station as she went into the Purifier chamber... I cried for two days when I heard that. But I hope it brought her some small comfort as she sealed that door."

Duncan nodded; he'd heard at least the basics of the story during his week in Big Town. He had to agree, if the stories were true, with the general consensus. Whoever the Lone Wanderer had been, she was truly a hero. _Hell,_ he thought, _if even _half_ of the stories are true she's a bone-fide super-hero._

And then Agatha began to play, and Duncan's thoughts fell away.

(O)(O)(O)

Early the next morning, Duncan stood atop the eastern wall of the hollow, watching the sunrise. He hadn't slept that night at all, haunted by the music he'd heard. Some of it he vaguely remembered; his father had been a fan of Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, and Chopin, though he'd claimed Tchaichovsky was 'A Commie Hack' and refused to listen to his music.

Still, though he was no fan of the music itself, the melodies, both simple and complex, flowing from the instrument, from Agatha's heart and soul (even he could tell she poured her all into playing for him), from centuries past, stirred something within Duncan.

Something he'd been worried he'd been losing forever.

Hope.

Because even if he found Amber, even if she was still alive, they were still two people who could (maybe) understand each other in a world of strangers. For all it mattered, the pair of them were as adrift as if they'd been marooned on Asterix Four, just as Captain Cosmos and Stella Starfire were before being rescued by Jangles the Moon-Monkey in his favorite episode.

The world, while somewhat recognizable, was as alien, the people even more so.

But Agatha's songs had reminded him that, despite the strangeness of it all, they had a common origin. They were not so different.

Because even he'd heard of, not the Soil in particular, but the Stradivarius violins. And if those had survived, if even one person on the entire planet still knew the old songs, could play that wonderful instrument with amazing skill...

There was hope for the future. They could recover.  
>Couldn't they?<br>They could. He had to believe it. There was just no other option.

"Are you sure I can't do anything else for you, Walker?"

Duncan shook his head at the old woman's voice behind and below him, shrugging the backpack further up on his back. "No, thanks, ma'am. You've done more than you know already."

Perhaps she'd understood, because she didn't respond. But when he turned back to climb down and leave the hollow, heading east again, she was smiling with wet eyes. "You take care of yourself, Walker. I hope you find the one you're looking for, and I hope she's all right."

Duncan smiled as well, and surprised both of them by opening his arms to give the woman a tight hug. "Thanks, Agatha. My name's... well, it's Walker now, I guess, but my parents named me Duncan."

The woman blinked, but nodded. "I suppose I understand. Now you remember... If the signal ever stops, you come up and see what you can do, there'll always be a reward, okay? Even if this old woman's dead and gone."

He smiled sadly, but nodded. "Thanks, Agatha... I will. You sure you don't need to keep some of this? I really don't think I did two hundred caps' worth of work."

She smiled again, pulling him in for another hug, "You also kept an old woman company, and told me an amazing story. Besides, I've got a feeling I won't see another year, so what use have I got for old bottle caps?"

She'd said it so calmly that it took Duncan aback for a moment. "You... what, are you sick?"

He cursed himself inwardly for his rudeness, but she only smiled as she stepped back, "No, but I've been around a long time... and I miss my husband something fierce, more every day. I just think I'm gonna be called to meet him again soon, that's all. It's not a sad thing for me."

Duncan nodded. He couldn't understand, and knew he didn't, but she seemed comforted by the knowledge- or perhaps it was the faith- regardless. Who was he to judge her beliefs? "Well, I'll... I'll see you around then, Agatha. Thank you again."

She waved and smiled, and was still standing watching him when he turned around the hill out of sight.

"Well, feet," he muttered downward, pausing to re-tie the laces of a boot that was loose, "guess you've got some more work to do. Glad the callouses are starting to build up fast. Amber's east... let's go."

Buoyed by Agatha's music and faith, his strides were long and swift as he moved up the long hill further east.

(O)(O)(O)

His good mood lasted about twelve hours. Just as night was starting to fall again, Duncan came upon a sprawling sight that reminded him of just how far mankind had fallen. Because while some small examples of the species' greatness had survived, he was staring at a vast field full of evidence of their hubris, all fallen to ruin.

Cars, buildings, busses, train cars, cranes... what appeared to be more than a square mile of junk, rusted, some smoking from doubtless nuclear fires still burning centuries later, stretched out as far as he could see in the gathering twilight.

It was enough, almost, to make him give up. Perhaps it was the fatigue, because even with all the energy he'd started the day with, he still hadn't slept the night before.

Or perhaps it was the utter desolation- despite being filled with 'stuff'- stretched before him.

But Duncan only wanted to sit and cry for all he'd lost.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you saw it, he had more important things to do.

As a result, no sooner had one strap of the pack slipped from his shoulder, than he shrugged it back up again, forced a determined look onto his face, and growled to himself, "Amber. Have to find Amber. If she wants to stop, wants to give up... then I can rest. If she wants to fight, wants to live, wants to see what we can do to... well, whatever, then I will keep going. I'll leave it up to her. She's smarter than me anyway."

Maybe it was a crutch, maybe he was lazy for pushing the weighty decisions onto someone he might never see again, but at that moment, Duncan saw no other options.

He stepped forward onto the scree slope, slipped, and began to fall.

Fortunately, he came to rest just a few feet later against the jagged edge of an old tractor-trailer's hood, shoulder first.

It wasn't a lethal wound by any means, but his left arm was all-but useless to bear weight, he guessed, as he worked to bandage it with the sleeve on that half of the t-shirt. _And that's something else I'll have to replace as soon as I can. I _need_ to get armor. It's too bad that mercenary's was too small and worn anyway._

At least, Duncan observed, the wound wasn't worth wasting a stimpack on. It bled a lot, and he was going to have a large bruise the next day, but it wasn't terribly deep. At worst, it was maybe a half-inch into the thick (relatively) muscle of his left shoulder, and hadn't hit anything major.

Of course, Duncan was no medical professional. He'd earned his first aid merit badge (along with several others in his long-ago climb to Eagle Scout), but he was no doctor. So perhaps he could be forgiven for not using quite enough material from the shirt to bandage the wound properly.

However, he still cursed himself once he heard the growls.

Yes, growls. Six of them, he thought, coming from all around him.  
>It took only a moment to confirm that, whatever they were, they'd likely smelled the blood running down his limp arm and dripping onto the ground. <em>Not good...<em>

The growls, though, were... off.

Three of them, he was sure, were canine. Dogs of some sort, probably feral. But three others... had seemed... well...

Duncan's suspicions were confirmed when a raggedly-dressed man with coarse, blood-red hair and sharpened, if black, teeth stepped from behind a bus which lay on it's side, grinning maliciously as he waved his knife back and forth in front of his face. "Come on out, boys! This kid'll be easy pickins'!"

With a sigh, Duncan loosened the strap on his shotgun, but otherwise kept his hand on the grip of his rifle. It wasn't the best weapon for a situation like this, surrounded by unknown numbers, but... It wasn't like he had a lot of options. The shotgun would, at best, take out two in one shot, had two barrels, and otherwise would be two slow to reload. At least the rifle could maybe, if he was lucky, take out one per each of it's five shots before he'd have to reload and get blindsided the rest.

A female voice behind him confirmed the rest weren't dogs, too. "Looks a little scrawny... bet he won't put up much fight. Let's get 'im quick!"

Before the others could jump towards him, an arm, thicker than his own by quite a bit, wrapped around his neck from behind, and lifted him into the air.

As his feet left the ground, the man before him snickered. "Gets 'em every time! I donno how a big lug like you's so damned quiet, Shadows, but I'm glad we let your tribal ass live when we found ya!"

The man behind him grunted, but otherwise said nothing. Instead, he flexed, further impeding Duncan's ability to breathe. Of more immediate concern, though, was the blood flow to his brain being cut off by the muscles of the man's beefy upper arm. His vision was already dimming, his cheeks were tingling...

Two more growls sounded, as mangy, red-furred canines loped into the small clearing between ancient vehicles, each drooling almost gladly at the thought of fresh meat.

The raiders, or whatever they were, shared a laugh at his expense, before a different growl sounded throughout the area.

It was higher, but louder, more menacing, than the dogs had produced, and it made the raiders freeze, including the tribal holding Duncan, though he wasn't moving much anyway, despite his weakening struggles.

"What the fuck was that?" the woman asked nervously, "Yao-guai?"

"Nah," a fourth voice said, one that hadn't spoken yet, "too high for that. Gotta be a stray dog or somethin'. This shit's probably got a pet or somethin'. More meat for our dogs, I say. Nothin' to worry 'bout."

The raider before Duncan grinned, reassured, and stepped forward to put his knife against Duncan's stomach. "Wanna bleed a bit before you pass out, ya little shit?"

Duncan couldn't draw enough breath to answer, or even spit into the raider's face.  
>Still, he was aware enough to be surprised when the face- all he could see through the encroaching darkness of asphyxiation- dropped from his view with a strangled cry. Red filled his vision for a moment, then a blur of brown moved up past his eyes.<br>Another cry followed, deeper, of pain rather than a gurgle of blood filling a windpipe.

He fell to the ground, gasping, as the arm loosened. He took in one deep breath before the large body crashed against him, knocking him flat on the ground. He was partially underneath the tribal, but was able to gasp twice and pull his legs and wounded left arm free to the sound of the raiders' and their dogs' screams.

When the shadows at the edges of his vision had fallen away, Duncan scrambled for the gifted lighter he'd obtained in Big Town, clicking it four times in growing frustration and fear before it ignited.  
>Whatever it was, the sounds had fallen silent, and he was still alive... was it, perhaps, sated by their deaths? Would he survive?<p>

Duncan recoiled in terror when the flame ignited, revealing a waist-high beast with brown claws as long as his hands, a toothed snout as large as his head, and...

"D- Deathclaw..." he breathed.

But it wasn't fully-grown, and... and it was staring at him.

Not attacking...

Just staring.

Right into his eyes... as if it was trying to mesmerize him while it's parent...

Duncan whirled and drew the shotgun, but there was nothing.

No heavy breathing, no thuds of large, clawed feet on the ground.

Slowly, not wanting to spook the thing into attacking, Duncan turned again.

The mottles of darker brown on the almost tan, leathery skin...

"It's _you_! Aren't you going to stop following me? I mean, I get that I killed your mom, but are you just chasing me down for revenge? I got too much to do to die! After I find Amber, kill me if you want!"

But the thing didn't seem to react aggressively. In fact, it flinched away. However, after he stopped yelling at it, it took a hesitant step forward, and... mewled.

The sound, so similar to how it had cried while being washed away by the Potomac, tugged at Duncan's heart.

"I haven't got any more food to spare."

The fact that, even just a few weeks later, it was three times as big- half as tall as him, instead of not even knee-high- didn't factor into the decision at all.

But despite how he begged, pleaded, threatened, the thing, it only mewled again every time he fell silent.  
>Even after firing a round over it's head- it flinched again, but didn't otherwise move- the beast wouldn't go away.<p>

And it's not like it was trying to kill him...

In fact, it had _saved_ him.  
>Hadn't it?<p>

Duncan finally looked around in the dim light of the small flame. The raiders and dogs all lay in pools of their own blood, the flesh torn as if by a knife... or three-inch claws. And he stood there, unscathed.

"You... you think I'm your mom or your dad, don't you?"

The shift in tone made the Deathclaw take another step closer. It was just a few feet away now, and he knew it could lunge at him at any time, tear into his throat with the same speed it had dropped the raider who'd distracted him from the sneaky tribal.

When he didn't move away, the Deathclaw took three more steps and leaned in. Duncan's breathing halted, but it didn't attack. Instead, a long, dry tongue slipped from it's mouth and licked the mostly-dried blood from his left arm, almost as if suckling.

"Oh, no... remember, I said I _wasn't_ raising a Deathclaw!"

But, when the sun rose over the old junkyard again, it found the leather-skinned creature snuggled up underneath Duncan's arm, purring gently with every breath.  
>For his part, the Walker had allowed his head to relax against the Deathclaw's, fortunately finding a soft spot between several of the bony protrusions that crowned it's head.<p>

When the sunlight hit his eyes, Duncan woke instantly, but didn't move. He'd only fallen to sleep a few hours before, despite being exhausted. Something about the thought of sleeping next to one of those... _things_ made him a little nervous.

But he woke up, and maybe he could use this chance to get away... even though it had apparently tracked him for days, all the while evading the hunting parties sent from Big Town to kill it.

Duncan had taken a whole five steps when he heard the creature yawn, smack it's toothy lips together, and shuffle to it's feet. It immediately lunged onto the corpse of one of the dogs, ripping into the soft meat of it's throat.

The young man high-tailed it further east, but it had caught up to him, still licking the blood from it's lips and claws through an unmistakably pleased grin, before he'd even left the scrapyard.  
>"Right... well, if you're walking with me, you need a proper Big Town name... how about it, Deadmeat?"<p>

It whined.

"Uh... no? What about... Baby?"

Another whine, this one louder.

"Hm. Scratches?"

It purred. Duncan took that as a good sign. "All right... but one rule. No killing me or people I say are safe. You only kill what I want you to, okay? I don't need to be run out of every town 'cause you were killing their brahmin or people."

The spined head cocked sideways, almost like a confused dog. Duncan sighed. "You'd better not be more trouble than you're worth, or I'll have to put you down myself. You know that, right?"

It, of course, didn't respond as Duncan followed the sun east-northeast.

**A/N2:** You like? Let me know!

Scratches is _not_ necessarily the Deathclaw pup's final (official) name- that name is going to be assigned by Amber. However, since I seem to have a difficult time deciding on it (Stitch was one of the names I discarded for it, for example), I'm actually going to open up my inbox for that- send me a review or PM (I'd prefer the former...) with suggestions or comments on what name you'd prefer to see for a baby Deathclaw. On that subject, yes, he's maturing rapidly- they do that. He will not be full-grown until the second arc, which will begin a few months after the first ends (which will be a few months, if only a chapter or two, after he finds Amber). It will not reach full maturity- as in, breeding age- for about two years old total, though, subject to me refreshing my memory on the life-cycle of a Deathclaw (as per The Vault wikia pages, my usual Fallout research site).

Agatha... we'll be seeing a _little_ more of her, but (**SPOILER ALERT**), that's the last of her alive, I'm afraid. She's old, and more than ready to die. I'd say she's actually the oldest person in the Wasteland right now. Will that be the end for the music? Of course not. In fact, I've had plans for that violin from the beginning. :)

Lastly, for those who don't think a baby Deathclaw could take down 4 raiders and 3 dogs... Two things. 1) sneak attacks took down the first two (the knife wielder and one holding Duncan), and... go back and play Fallout 1-2. Even the low-lv little guys are _vicious_. 2) Dogmeat. Yes, a 'special' dog, but an animal without a Deathclaw's natural weaponry, and in FO3 he's still able to waste 3-4-5 raiders and (maybe) a merchant before you can even get close enough to help unless you approach at a dead run from the right direction. A Deathclaw pup would be able to do the same, probably easier.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Hate me for writing this story and ruining Fallout forever for you? Let me know! Reviewing is good for your soul. +Karma -Karma! And EVERYONE loves good karma! (Don't they?)


	9. Chapter 8: Let Freedom Ring

**A/N:** Okay, so it's a week late and only seven(ish) pages instead of the 10+ like the last few, but... hey, it's here! Two things to look forward to: Amber gets a short scene. She'll be getting more and more as we close to the final chapter of this arc, where the two meet up again (well, where she's safe- that might take a chapter or two...).  
>As well, one of my favorite organizations makes their appearance- and it's not the first one hinted at (though they're all right). However, for anyone who can guess what that first hinted group is given the clues here, you can have an Internet-cookie. (Er, hinted at outside the title. That's a big hint for the second group...)<p>

Enjoy!

**Edit:** As of 03/04/2012 9:12 PM (my time, which is Mountain Standard), I'm unable to log in to Ffnet. Well... I can log in, but when I go to my Publish section and hit 'Upload', it says I must be logged in to do it. So blame the late update (after that, at least) on them. Sorry all the same.

**Chap. 8 Let Freedom Ring**

Laying prone atop the peak of a small mountain, Duncan let out a low whistle. He was fairly certain this was the old Wheaton Armory, if his recollection of his dad's actual workplace (since he had been an accountant for the SatCom array, he wasn't actually on-site at any point, to Duncan's knowledge) was to be believed. However, any thoughts of raiding the armory for military hardware was put to rest by the sheer number of human animals parading below him. Despite not having any sort of magnification, he could spot movement well enough even from a couple of miles away, and there was a _lot_ of it. The ant-sized people were moving in an almost-organized fashion between what appeared, from his position to the northeast, to be the main entrance to the storage bunker itself, and the crumbled remains that must have been the offices and barracks of the military installation. Those coming out were carrying things, those going in were empty-handed.

"Well, boy, looks like we're missing 'take your kid to work day' this year. Come on, we gotta go around."

The Deathclaw blinked twice at Duncan, twitching it's head sideways again, then rose from beside him as he stood in a half-crouch. It had imitated his position on the ground as well as it could, a fact which had amused the young man thoroughly. At least, that is, until he'd gotten a good look at the Raider camp below.

Because even at this range, he could make out the poorly-dressed humans- _animals_, he corrected himself- and the many mutilated corpses they'd left up to mark their territory as macabre decorations. At least, Duncan thought, the wind was blowing to the south. He wouldn't have to smell it since he was skirting north.

(O)(O)(O)

Despite that Scratches and he had both wanted to wipe out the three Raiders he'd spotted on patrol, Duncan had been forced to clamp his hand over the creature's toothed maw to restrain it from leaping out at them from their hiding spot.

It wasn't that he thought they wouldn't survive the ambush. The Deathclaw, alone, had taken out twice as many Raiders in seconds. But if the patrol never made it back, and whoever led this gang was smart enough to send patrols in the first place, more would come. Probably more than they could handle.

"Easy, boy," Duncan whispered as the last of the three passed around the hillside heading down toward the Armory, "let's give them a few more minutes to get further away, then we'll get going."

Scratches' stomach chose that moment to growl, Duncan's a moment later. With a sigh, the human reached into his backpack and pulled out the last of the pre-war food he'd brought with him when leaving Big Town, the questionably-safe baked beans he'd procured from the same dead scientist he'd gotten his laser rifle from.

Grimacing, Duncan handed it to the Deathclaw, "Food. Open."

While he doubted the monster was intelligent enough to get the words, it took a long glance at the faded, scratched picture, then looked up at Duncan as if to confirm that he really wanted it to, before shoving the whole can into it's maw with both hands and biting down sharply.

It's teeth, as Duncan could have guessed, punctured the aluminum can with ease, and crushed the only slightly-fermented beans out into it's mouth.

Slowly, the Deathclaw chewed twice, swallowed the beans, and spit out the can. When it looked up at him, tongue lolling, Duncan had to smile. It was acting just like a puppy, though, he was forced to remind himself, a puppy that wouldn't _just _bite off the hand that fed it if he made it angry. "All right, I guess that's my dinner, too. Let's go."

(O)(O)(O)

Amber frowned.

The blisters on her feet had been short-lived, by the time the Brotherhood of Steel patrol she'd been escorted by- though they insisted she was only following them- had ensured that her Vault-tec issued boots had stayed in good repair, and that the blisters she did develop had been treated with, at the least, field-grade medicine. As a result, instead of the aches and pains of slowly-growing callouses her fellow Vault-One-Hundred survivor had been dealing with, Amber had only been growing more used to walking constantly as opposed to the more sedentary, scholarly life she'd led pre-War.

Because Amber Rickman, or as the Brotherhood had usually called her, 'Scrub', had had big plans for herself. At least, before the bombs had started to fall.

It wasn't every day that a young woman of her intelligence and thirst for knowledge showed up in lower-middle-class suburbia, but her parents and she had both seen the sheer potential she had for whatever field she chose. As it turned out, Amber chose history. Specifically, military history. She was no great tactician, but her analytical and insightful mind had led her to making a new discovery about the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln that had already, despite having just been published in a small history periodical, started to change the way authorities on the matter looked at it- and her.

Of course, that wasn't saying that Amber was a one-trick pony. While only adequate at maths (which, to her, meant she was working at a low-college level in high school), and the sciences outside of medicine had never really interested her, the brunette young woman knew more about more things than anyone else she'd ever personally known of her age. Arts (she favored sculpture and flute, but was a passable chellist and pianist as well), History, of course, and the debate team were just a few of the aspects of high school life she had excelled in.

"Not that it does me any good now," she muttered to herself, frowning again. She had left Canterbury Commons (which was what the Brotherhood called it, the proprietor/mayor of the settlement, Earnest "Uncle" Roe, had insisted it was now the Canterbury Trading Post, early that morning. It had taken her a while for the maps she'd studied as a child to align properly with the landscape she'd been walking for the last few weeks. Once it had, however, she'd made the decision to take what she had and leave the relative safety of the Brotherhood's patrol.

They had turned south-southeast after Canterbury, she had turned straight southwest, moved across a broad valley where several domesticated cows- _Brahmin_, she corrected- grazed in pens, and up over a ridge to descend into the Potomac River's flood plain.

It was there, as she stood atop the ridge, that she frowned for a third time while the gray sun beat down from the yellow-gray sky, while the wind whistled through the ancient, whithered husks of trees.

The town she'd been heading for was gone. Aspen Hill was gone. A few scattered buildings remained, but even the streets had been covered in blown sediment, rock, and the general debris of a two-century-old ruin. It would be impossible to tell where her family had lived.

The family hadn't been wealthy, per se, but they had been fairly comfortable, definitely in the upper-middle class, so with only two children, both girls around Amber's age, they had been her most frequent playmates growing up. At least, the most frequent human ones. One didn't get quite the same kind of dynamic flowing between a bright young girl and her books.

Amber sighed, ignored the tears in her emerald eyes, and started trudging downhill. She wouldn't, couldn't, give up... she had to make sure. Even if it'd been two hundred years, her cousins were long dead, she could, perhaps, find some clue, some tidbit of information that would let her find out what had happened... how they'd died. She knew, after all, that her uncle Samual (_not_ Samu_e_l, he would cheerfully correct) Newmont would not consign his family to die in a stinking hole in the ground as his sister had been convinced by her husband to do.

Amber sniffled a bit. It was understandable, she knew, to be a little upset and thinking about your dead family, crushed or asphyxiated inside said stinking hole in the ground. It was not okay, she had decided even before Duncan, the last link with her past, had woken, that she would not allow that upset or those thoughts to keep her from moving forward.

_What are you doing right now, Duncan? Are you missing Taylor as much as I'm missing Cheryl and Cody? What about your mother? Did you ever understand why your dad went to prison? Understand that it was for you and Taylor?_

"Heh heh, lookit here, boyos!"

The low, slow drawl made Amber jump. One hand went immediately for the grip of the laser pistol a kind young woman of the Brotherhood- Junior Scribe Allison, she'd said- had given her to protect herself when they'd parted ways.  
>Unfortunately, the blow from behind prevented her from completing the motion. As her vision went dark, Amber began to cry in earnest. Her last vision was of a half-dressed man, one grimy hand stroking his already-hard and even filthier member while leering at her.<p>

The last thing she heard was a different, still male, voice remind his companions that she was too sweet for quick killing; she'd be much better savored... for the flavor of her sweet meats.

Fortunately for her later life, Amber would also not remember most of the nightmares those words conjured while she was unconscious.

(O)(O)(O)

"Stupid locked door... what the hell is this thing made out of, anyway?" Duncan gave the metallic door a final, half-hearted kick and glare, before turning to shuffle to the east once again. The baby Deathclaw was on his heels as usual about half the time. The rest usually found it either scampering off to or back from some small creature it would bring back in it's jaws. Often, half was offered to Duncan, who had decided he would have to stop turning green at the thought of eating half a giant scorpion, and instead, would just keep walking and ignore it.

He turned back to look at the heavily-fortified building, nestled in the dale between two arms of a small mountain for a moment. Unless you had approached directly from the east or, as he had done, climbed the mountain to spot it from above, the building would have been extremely easy to miss. At first, it had appeared just like any other ramshackle, board-and-corrugated-tin building in the wasteland. However, as the easier path had led down toward the dale, he'd gotten up close to the building, allowing him to see several details a casual traveller would not have noticed.

On each of the four even-length walls had been small slots, probably to allow gunfire while providing for cover. A similar door, barely large enough for his adult frame, had rested on the east side, straight in from the small ravine between the feet of the mountain. It, alone, had not been covered with rust and tin, allowing him to see that the building itself was actually only camoflaged that way. In reality, it seemed to be constructed entirely of some kind of dark-gray metal, just like the door itself. He'd seen it before, somewhere, but...

Still, any locking mechanism around the simple handle (he'd tried twisting, pulling, pushing, even sliding in all four directions to no avail) had also resisted gunfire, and "Scratches" hadn't seemed to understand him when he asked it to open the door.

Also, the people he wasn't quite sure he could hear inside over the wind hadn't responded to his calls, of course.

So here he was, giving up... not because it was in his nature to do so, but because he had more important things to do. That, and his gut told him that Amber wasn't here.

"Come on, Scratchy, might as well start looking for a place to camp."

The sun was still over the horizon, but wouldn't be for much longer, if his twelve-foot shadow was any indication.  
>The pair found a little nook high on a cliff-face he could just climb down to from above (the Deathclaw, he had found, would reach him no matter what if it was determined, and seemed to dislike having help). The Old Worlder was just about to set out his bedroll when the sound of combat started echoing from the canyon to the north.<p>

The beast's head cocked in that direction just as Duncan's did. What had started as just a few reports had quickly frown to dozens. At least one of the weapons he was hearing was automatic, judging by the high-pitched and rapid noise.

"Not our problem, boy," Duncan said, shaking his head.

Of course, the Deathclaw, curious child that it was, was already moving up the canyon at a full sprint.

Duncan sighed, "Ugh... fine! Let's just go get ourselves killed, then!"

But, as luck would have it, he was able to keep up with his 'pet' well enough that he didn't have to charge in recklessly to save it... or have it save him, as the case may be.

In fact, it, having learned a bit from his own preferred tactics as they protected themselves while travelling the Wastes, had paused about twenty yards outside a rubble-strewn crossroads, which had been lit with a single portable-reactor powered floodlamp. The light itself was focused on several men and a couple of hard-looking women, mostly wearing leather, but some in painted armor made from scrap metal. They were discussing things loudly as a runner came up from the opposite direction. Duncan scooted a bit closer to overhear, the Deathclaw following in silent feet.

"Cap'n, them slaves is holed up in that Temple o' theirs somethin' tight. I don' be thinken' we's get'n 'em dis night."

The man, Duncan assumed the Captain, he'd been addressing grabbed the much smaller messenger, "I gots my own damned 'pinion on when we's getten' 'em slaves, scrub. Git back t'yer place, I gots a plan. Tell Rabid if'n he charges in and gets 'is boys kilt one more tahm, I'ma gon' kill 'im meself. He best wait for mah sig-nail." The large man threw the rather scrawny, younger man away. He landed heavily on his rear with a grunt, but scrambled up and hobbled away, massaging his buttocks as he did.  
>Several of the other leaders laughed as he disappeared into the shadows.<p>

"Slavers, huh boy? Damn... if Amber went to this Temple place, and it's got slaves there... we gotta save 'em, right? Hell... I know I'm gonna regret this..."

But while Duncan was silently (or at least quietly, knowing he was largely protected by the battle a hundred yards or so to the north) flipping the segments of his rocket launcher together and slipping one of the precious missiles inside, he heard another runner approach. He paused to listen.

"Cap'n Dick, that ex-merc sniper bitch in charge up at the Temple is givin' our boys hell again. Your sharpshooter about ready?"

Another of the officers scowled, "I'll take her out on _my_ time, pendejo," in a frigid voice. The runner flinched, but didn't cower as the first had done before the Captain. Instead, he steeled himself, "'s your ass on the line if Boss Ricardo don't think we made enough on the new stock to make up for the boys we're losin'," then stalked back the way he'd come without reply.  
>As he did so, Duncan decided a bit more haste was in order. If the dark-skinned, tall man was indeed a sniper, he needed to be removed, and quickly, before the one protecting the slaves was taken out. Fortunately, he was almost done...<br>"All right," he whispered to the creature at his side, who's breathing was slowly picking up as it sensed not just near, but iminent, violence again, "I'm gonna fire, then toss a Frag. You stay _right here_. Stay. Okay? Watch my back. Guard."

Scratches gave a soft little whine, barely audible over the loud discussion, much less the still-increasing gunfire.

Duncan shouldered the weapon from behind his cover and rolled over onto a knee, barrel pointing toward them. With one handing holding it up and the other pulling a grenade from his belt and setting it nearby, he readied himself mentally for what was coming.  
><em>Raiders and slavers. Gave up their humanity, didn't they? Fuck 'em. Kill 'em all, world's a better <em>_place without them._

_It's no worse than killing animals._

_That's all they are, anyway, just animals that prey on humans._

_Like Deathclaws... only weaker, and smarter. Some of them, anyway._

_I'm not a murderer._

_I'm not committing murder on those six people._

_I'm..._

_I'm committing _Justice_._

_Justice. _

_Yeah, that's it._

He wouldn't be able to make a clean hit, they were too far away- about two hundred feet was his limit for anything approaching accuracy with the ancient guidance systems- but the explosion, if he aimed at the table or ground nearby, would be enough to take them out.  
>Of course, he knew now that the best plans sometimes went awry, and that's why he had a grenade ready. As soon as he fired, he'd be behind cover, and lobbing, he hoped, the Frag before the missile even hit. Wait...<p>

_No, blast would carry the Frag back my way. Better wait for the shockwave, then throw._

He didn't hesitate once his plan was finalized.

A single squeeze of the trigger caused a spark to ignite inside the missile, and with a quiet hiss, it was away.  
>Duncan flung himself forward and down, pushing the 'launcher to the ground beside him as he did so, a moment before the dust and sand around him was kicked up in a powerful, but short-lived tempest.<p>

The blast itself made his ears ring powerfully, the only sound he could hear was the sudden whine of Scratches next to him, who was pawing at the sides of it's head where the thin membranes he'd guessed it's ears were lay.

As Duncan rose to a crouch again, he imagined, through the dust and flames ahead, that there was screaming, that he'd thrown the slaver attack into chaos by taking out their leadership in one blow.  
>But no... even in the darkness and dust cloud he'd created, he could still see movement.<p>

Snatch, yank, throw.

(O)(O)(O)

_"It's the bottom of the fifth, bases loaded, and the Cougars are up by two, and there's two strikes. If number Seventeen, Maddox, can get one more strike on Sampson, the Hawks win. If Sampson, who's number five, can force a Ball or even a single base, the Cougars will clinch their playoff spot for the post-season in this year's all-District Youth League!  
>"And boy, is the crowd feeling it," another announcer called out, "I think I see Maddox' family out there in the bleachers, cheering him on. I'm sure he's feeling the pressure, but this kid's got some talent!"<em>

No,_ Duncan thought,_ I'm not feeling pressure at _all_. Especially when you say things like that!

_But the twelve-year-old had been training, practicing, even playing for moments like this for three years. His family, his coach, his team, they were all counting on him. Just one throw, one perfect throw, was all it would take._

_He inhaled the grass, took in the roaring of the crowd (and exhaled the boos from the opposing fans), relished the fading sunlight on that glorious Saturday afternoon._

_Duncan pulled back, lifted his left leg, and..._

(O)(O)(O)

Unlike on that day two-hundred-and-two years previously (or something like that), the Frag seemed to follow it's arc and Duncan's will perfectly. Maybe, he mused in the moments before it exploded, all he'd needed to do back then to win the game was to _aim_ at the batter's knee, rather than let it happen by accident. He'd been aiming toward the moving leg this time, and he'd hit it spot on. It bounced, the person- _thing_- it was attached to groaned, and another voice from nearby cried out, "Under Attack! We're under-"

_Boom_.

The second explosion was, if anything, weaker by half than the first.

But against the already-weakened, softened, or blown-apart slavers in the command post and it's small, apparently poorly-shielded nuclear reactor?

It was more than enough.

Duncan, unaware that the lamp's power supply had gone critical, and therefore that there was a cloud of radiation in the area, sprinted into the clearing with his shotgun in hand.  
>Nothing moved. A runner was approaching, though, he could hear it through the bells in his ears, pounding feet. Fortunately, he'd had the sense and time to cover them this time, and the second explosion had only made him wince, even with the secondary effect from the lamp's power.<p>

Without hesitation, the shotgun, already up, swivelled toward the runner. As soon as he was close enough to identify as the scrawny one who'd first appeared, Duncan fired. He aimed low purposefully, scattering the lower half of both the slaver's legs with buckshot.  
>He had a real plan, now.<p>

As the newcomer screamed in pain, surprise, and fear once he saw that not only was he under attack but that the leaders had largely been reduced to much smaller consituent parts, Duncan was already moving forward.

The man cowered, whimpered, begged. Duncan largely ignored him, only fixed the man with a dark gaze. Instead, he gestured with one hand- the other calmly aiming the shotgun at the man's torso this time- to his companion. "You see him?"

Reluctantly, the other man turned his head from the barrel of the shotgun. Once he saw the three-foot creature, he paled even further, and fell silent immediately.  
>In fact, Duncan was pleased to note, he actually froze like a deer in headlights. An understandable reaction, of course.<br>"What- what're- what's that thing doin', man?"  
>The former One-Hundred dweller was pleased the man- more a kid, really, about his age physically- was able to formulate a reply with a salivating Deathclaw two or three feet away, staring at him like he was food.<p>

Which, Duncan noted, was probably what the man feared. Maybe he could use that.

"I'm debating something. Scratches likes live meat, you see. But, I can use you. You want to be useful, right? Not just 'Claw food?"

Immediately, the spark of hope made the man's eyes widen. He nodded vigorously, winced, and pulled one foot up to cradle it as close as possible to his chest. It was ripped to pieces, but likely it was only surface damage. He'd live... if he got it treated. "See, I need some info, then I need a favor. You're a runner, right? You do messages for your bosses?"

"Y- Yeah! I run real good, man! Maybe not so much right now, but I can get a message anywhere you want, man! Just don't let that thing get any closer!"

Duncan smiled, but didn't remove the shotgun from the other man's torso. "No, I'm not gonna let Scratches eat you unless you try somethin' funny. See, I _do_ need a runner, and a good one. So I'm gonna offer you a deal. I'm gonna take all your ammo but one shot. You can save that for yourself, but if you try to shoot me, Scratchy's gonna tear your eyes out, see?"

The man nodded again, eyes now flickering back and forth between the two.

"Okay, so. First, you're gonna tell me where your base is. The big one, the one your band uses."

"It's Paradise Falls, man! I thought everyone knew that, man! Where you from?"

Duncan winced. Paradise Falls, a slaver base? It was... well, okay, it was pretty lame as amusement parks went, but it was the only one of any decent size within a hundred miles (or so it seemed to him) of home. That it was desecrated, used by slavers...

"Not your problem, is it, 'man'? Okay, so Paradise Falls. Good enough. Now, you up for a run? I got a real simple message, that's it."

"Yeah, yeah, I can take your message, man! Just don' let that thing eat me!"

Duncan, this time, actually gestured Scratches back, "Down, boy. Go eat one of the other ones. We'll get you more meat later," while trying to ignore the fact that he'd just ordered his 'pet' to feast on human flesh. "All right. Here's the message: 'I'm coming for you'."

"What? You're coming for... huh?"

Duncan's eyes rolled. "That's it. Tell your bosses, the ones at Paradise Falls, that I'm coming for them. See, I've decided I don't like slavers. So I'm gonna head that way when I get a chance, and I'm gonna kill ever last one of you."

The man didn't snort. Instead, he nodded. At the moment, it probably seemed like this young man and his pet Deathclaw _could_ take out the entire camp alone.

So the runner agreed, dumped his clip- he only had one- and showed Duncan just the one shell in his 10mm, and took off running (limping rapidly) to the west.

When the young man had watched him go, reloaded the emtpy barrel of his shotgun with another shell, and turned toward the battle, he was surprised to hear the gunfire mostly gone.

Only intermittent stattaco bursts remained.

However, he could see, in the darkness, several figures dressed in black standing out against the concrete in the moonlight.

"You let that slaver go, but killed all the rest. Who are you, stranger?"

The speaker was a woman, sounded a few years older than he, but more curious than judgemental. Duncan turned toward the one he thought had spoken, noting about seven people surrounding him. Each was armed, half with swords or baseball bats, one with a sledgehammer, and the rest with rifles or pistols. No way he'd make it out without getting fatally shot, even with Scratches at his side.

"What's more," another, older and male, voice asked, "how did you tame a fuckin' _Deathclaw_?"

Smirking, Duncan reached down to pat Scratches' bloody head, "Just gotta know what to feed 'em and when, I guess. Had him since he was a pup."

The woman again, "Okay, but that don't explain the Slavers. What's your game?"

Duncan spat, scowling, on the severed foot of one of the nearby female slavers. "My game? I don't have a game when it comes to that scum. I'm dead-fuckin'-serious. They're all gonna die."

Several of the gathered fighters laughed, but the woman and the man, who had been next to her, did not. "Come on, then," the man said, "We're taking you to see Torres, she'll know what to do with ya. You ever heard of the Temple of the Union, kid?"

Duncan shrugged, but holstered his shotgun when the ones surrounding him did the same with their own weapons. "I'm guessing it's what this scum," gesturing toward the littered body parts, "meant by 'the Temple'."

The woman responded this time, stepping up next to him on the opposite side of Scratches, eyeing it warily as she pulled down her black hood to reveal a blonde, pretty young face, "Temple of the Union, that's us. Well, the Temple's where we're going, but we're the Union. We're all ex-slaves who bought or fought for our freedom. Well, we used to be. Some of us are just people who've proven themselves loyal, like Brighton."

"Oh."

The girl smiled, "Don't say much, do you? Don't worry, I talk enough for the whole group. I'm Nikki. I bet you can guess what a pretty young thing like me did as a slave."

Duncan only scowled and clenched his jaw.

He could guess, all right.  
>It was the same fate that would have awaited Taylor, probably. Would await Amber if these... people... got a hold of her.<p>

"I'll join," he said.

None of them doubted him given the tone he'd used, or the help he'd been in fending off the large-scale attack, no matter how much that had been based on luck.

Because, as the big man, Brighton, said, sometimes luck was a skill all it's own.

**A/N2:** You like? Let me know!

Not too much to say aside from an apology about the wait. It's been two weeks (making me a week and most of a day behind my schedule, since I'd prefer to post early Sunday mornings and this was supposed to be last week's) since I posted. It's several things, most of which are dying down finally. Time will tell, of course, but hopefully I'll be able to get back to weekly updates soon.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Hate me for writing this story and ruining Fallout forever for you? Let me know! Reviewing is good for your soul. +Karma -Karma! And EVERYONE loves good karma! (Don't they?)


	10. Chapter 9: Hunter or Hunted

**A/N:** Just about 12 hours late. Sorry- but same-day-service at least. :)

Unbetaed and unedited, but only 'cause I'm trying to hurry. I'll endeavor to get to it tomorrow, and hopefully not forget. 1st arc is winding up toward the climax- it's probably gonna be next chapter or the one after (next being more likely), but it's gonna be the shortest of the three by several chapters in the longer case and at least a few in the shorter.|  
>Enjoy!<p>

**Chap. 9 Hunter or Hunted**

"Are you sure? It's already pretty late. Besides, we haven't seen a new, friendly face in a long time."

The speaker, Simone Cameron, eyed Duncan in a way that made him, truth be told, slightly uncomfortable. She was pretty enough, he guessed, for a woman twice his physical age, making it even worse when considering his mental and emotional state... though, he had the stray thought, those seemed to be catching up pretty rapidly as he adjusted to more adult hormones.

He'd just spent the last hour being 'debriefed' by Alejandra Torres, a younger and much prettier (though he still wasn't really interested) young woman than Simone. He'd told her, in confidence (only she and Simone, there to make sure there was no trickery involved had been in the room), everything. His entire history, at least what he considered relevant, skipping over only Amber's name. He'd only called her a friend, someone from his life before the Vault, someone he had to find again.  
>"I'm sure. I've got something I need to do, and I have to do it fast. Someone I- someone important to me is counting on me to find her."<p>

The older woman sighed, "All right, fine... I get that, I guess. Listen, I know you said you wanted to join, and I'm in charge up here, but I haven't got the authority as part of the Union's Assembly to bring in new people. If you ever make it down to D.C. Itself, find the Lincoln Memorial, and Hannibal Hamlin. He's our leader, and with my say-so, he'll let you swear in. Okay?"

Duncan nodd, "Hamlin, Lincoln Memorial. Got it."

Simone gestured for him to follow as she turned toward one of the many rebuilt rooms in the courtyard of the fortified Temple of the Union, "I got something that might help you. Bit of a side project me and Bill been workin' on."

A bit hestitantly, could he trust her after her obvious interest in getting him to stay?, Duncan followed.

He considered for a moment shutting the door behind him; it was only polite in her 'house', after all, then thought better of it- his safety was more important, and he needed an escape route. After all, if he was captured by this woman who obviously had plans for him, how could he get to Amber quickly?

"This oughta do it for ya. I think we got all the parts together... we was gonna use it for our messengers down to D.C., but we just finished it and you need it more, I think. Might need some oil, that chain's a bit of a mishmash and doesn't really fit all that good."

While she'd been explaining, Duncan stared. "My... my bike!"

But of course, it wasn't his. There was no way, two centuries and several dozen miles away that this could actually be _his_. It was the same model, though, with a few modifications. There was a jurry-rigged, but apparently securely welded, triangle gun-mount attached to the handlebars, a basket ahead of that and behind, and somehow, someway, the tires themselves had apparently been replaced with strips of rubber vulcanized together with many small steel (or rust) studs set into them. They almost looked like... studded snow tires. Almost.

"Is... wow. Why're you... I mean, why go through all that work to fix it up and just give it away? I'm not gonna be bought into sleeping with you with this."

Simone actually looked a bit uncomfortable herself at the question, "It's, uh... look at it like this, huh? If you hadn't saved our asses earlier, this bike would go to the slavers in Paradise Falls. It's, well, the least we can do. The least _I_ can do. They wouldn't have made my death pleasant, after all of 'em I've shot 'tween the eyes over the years."

Duncan nodded. It made sense. "So... so you're just giving it to me? Don't expect it back or anything?"

Simone shook her head, "Nah. I mean, if you don't want it at any point sure, but as long as you need it, keep it. We can always send a scav crew from the Memorial to the Red Rider factory and get more parts. There's a whole damned bike, brand new- well, old, but unridden- up in the scaffolding we can't get up to even."

Duncan whistled. "Wow, that's pretty cool."

She blinked, and as she wheeled the bike off it's makeshift stand to put it in front of him, asked, "What's 'cool'?"

"Uh... nevermind. Long story."

(O)(O)(O)

Amber knew she'd groaned, but couldn't tell how long ago it had been. She ached, everywhere, but especially her wrists, ankles, and buttocks. Her hands and feet, unfortunately, she couldn't feel at all. _Shit, I'm tied up!_  
>Not only that, but she was bouncing uncomfortably, hanging upside down, bent half-way over... and whatever was making her rear hurt hit again with loud <em>whap<em>. She whimpered, unable to stop herself.

"Heh heh, hear that, boyos?" It was the same speaker from before, when she'd been... _oh crap, I've been caught by Raiders! And the Brotherhood's days away!_

"Sweet Meat here's wakin' up ag'in! You like it, Sweet Meat?" His hand slapped her ass again, harder this time, and she cried out, but he never slowed down his pace, even with her slung awkwardly over his shoulder. Her head was to the front, leaving her staring either at his muscled (but filthy, even bloodstained) abdomen, or lower to his crotch, which was covered only by a metal plate, probably hammered from an ancient piece of a car. It covered so little she could see tufts of pubic hair peeking out. The smell alone made her want to vomit.

"Fuck- fuck you!" she gasped, but voices- many of them, at least six- only started to laugh, while the man carrying her whispered in her ear in a chilling voice.

"Oh, I plan ta', Sweet Meat... Boyos' right, I cain't touch ya much 'till the Boss has his way, but he don't much like the back. Yer still gon' be a sweet, untouched thing when I stick my pecker in your tight, virgin hole and make you cry for me."

Unable, even unwilling, to hold it back, no matter how much it shamed her, Amber whimpered again.

No seventeen year old- or twenty-two, whatever she was- wanted to be gang-raped... and she knew full well that that, and worse, was coming. She had no hope left.

(O)(O)(O)

Duncan's thighs ached, but he couldn't stop. The muscles were different than walking, but, he mused as he closed in on the high walls of the Canterbury Trading Post (he assumed that's what it was, since it was the only structure of any large size he'd seen since arriving in this dangerous new world) it was interesting... more than two centuries since he'd last done it, and he still remembered. _I guess riding a bike really is something you never forget how to do._

Somehow, Scratches had kept even or just slightly behind him, despite his much-increased speed. He could feel and hear the creature panting, but it hadn't yet slowed down. It seemed almost dog-like in it's enjoyment of the simple act of running. Still, it would need to rest, and so would he. They'd been going hard since midnight or so when they had left the fortress-Temple, climbing mostly uphill the whole way as they crossed what looked, in the wane, haze-filtered starlight, like farmland. At least, if the herds of brahmin grazing at sparse grass and fences were any indication.

The Trading Post ahead was, if anything, even more formidable a defensive structure than the Temple had been. From the hill to the south, where he could see an old... grocery store? Atop a large hill, to the north where a few smaller hills anchored it, there was a single, two-story (he guessed) wall, put together not just from the wood, steel bar, and fence pieces he'd seen previously, but from actual stone, buttressed with large beams, likely from sky scrapers that had long since crumbled. "Hell, I'm glad I'm not attacking _this_ place."  
>Fortunately, what he guessed was the only large gate was on their side, and the ten guards around it weren't watching out for a lone traveller. He was able to get fairly close before one of them called out, "Whoah the- <em>what the fuck? Deathclaw!<em>"

Duncan and Scratches, fortunately, were able to duck behind the stump of a large tree before the bullets started flying in earnest.

Once the first volley had died down, he shouted, "Hold your fire! He's tame! I'm comin' out!"

First one hand, then the other, was stuck out past the tree.  
>They didn't shoot.<p>

Slowly, he growled, "Stay, boy. _Stay_," then stood and stepped out, hands high in the air. The guards and gate were about fifteen yards out, each had their weapons, mostly carbines, he thought, trained either on him or the stump.

"Seriously, he's totally tame. I've never seen him attack anyone that wasn't trying to kill either of us, so... unless you _want_ him to attack you, I'd lower the guns. I'm not here to fight anyone. I'm just looking for a friend."

One, just one, of the guards allowed the barrel of his rifle to dip slightly. He called out, "Who? What's your friend's name?"

Duncan hesitated only a moment. What would they do if she was inside? But the Union members, Simone and Torres in particular, had spoken at length about the Post's general neutrality- fighting was bad for business, unless you were an arms dealer- and honorability in dealings, as long as you didn't try to cheat them. "Her name's Amber. Brown hair, green eyes. Almost as tall as me, bit, uh... curvy. She might have been wearing a Vault Suit, with the number one hundred. She came in with a Brotherhood of Steel patrol, last I heard."

More of the guards lowered their weapons, only three kept them trained, and on the tree, not him. The first spoke again, "Yeah, I remember her. Left this morning, really early. 'bout four hours ago, now."  
>Duncan's eyes widened slightly. He was that close? If she was walking, he'd be caught up by noon, if he pushed hard. Resting would have to wait until he'd caught up."Cool... which way did she go?"<p>

The guard thought for a moment, then pointed south-southwest, "'round that way. Not much down there for a ways, think she might'a been headin' to the Corvega factory, 's about all that's there until you hit D.C. itself."

Duncan nodded, "Thanks, man. Hey... I don't really know how this works, I'm new to the area, but since you guys haven't shot me and even helped me, can I buy you guys a round of drinks or something?"

One of the guards cheered, a few others smiled.  
>Strangely, to Duncan, the one who'd been speaking frowned. "Not supposed to accept tips on the job. Sorry."<p>

Reluctantly, Duncan shrugged. "Well, next time I'm passing by, I'll stop in then and take care of it, okay? Uh... don't shoot at me and Scratches here, all right? I swear he's tame."

The speaker, who appeared to be their leader at the least, nodded, "Can't make no promises, but I'll talk to Roe about it. He's the guy in charge, it's his call. Might make you leave him outside if you come in, though. We gotta lotta civilians and livestock in the walls he could rip through, even young's he looks."

Duncan nodded, "I get it. All right, well, thanks again. I'll be goin'. Come on, Scratches," he called back as he turned to pick up the fallen bike.

Two minutes later, the guards breathed a collective sigh of relief when the young Deathclaw was finally out of sight on the other side of the hill the old Mechanist's Lair sat atop.

(O)(O)(O)

Amber whimpered in fear. The man who had been carrying her for the last three miles without complaint had apparently grown bored with groping and fondling her butt, and slid a hand up between her legs. He hadn't gone too high; she guessed that perhaps he really was worried that the boss would consider her 'touched' if he used even his fingers. That wasn't, however, why she'd had a sudden increase in fear.

No, that was simply because the older woman- she had, at least, some gray hair in her twintails- who'd been scouting ahead had returned, and informed the group that the last mile to their base was clear of enemies.  
>The big man, obviously wanting to get closer to his own turn (she gathered he would be second after the boss), had urged them to even greater speed. Now, they were practically jogging across the Wasteland, with her bouncing heavily on his muscled shoulder. The young woman supposed, in a rare moment of clinical dispassion (she feared she would enter hysterics otherwise), she should be thankful she wasn't bouncing on the studded metal plate over the man's other shoulder.<p>

"Gonna eat me some sweeeeet meeeats," the large man whispered huskily. Amber shuddered, though he didn't seem to be talking specifically to her. A younger, even filthier and thin man near her chuckled and licked his lips, never taking his eyes from her bouncing rear.

"Home sweet home's just a little ways ahead, Sweet Meat... you'n me's gonna have us a _grand_ ol' time. Right, Sweet Meat?"

This time, she was able to remain silent, though it was difficult. By tilting her head back painfully and turning to the right, she was able to catch just a glimpse of a dark building set against the yellow sand and dust of the Wastes. The thin man giggled to himself and nodded, having followed her eyes, "Yep, Sweet Meat, dat's it! The Grizzly Diner, we calls it. Gonna be your home too, least-a-ways until we's done wit' ya!" He giggled again, and didn't stop until the larger man backhanded him roughly, jostling Amber's head directly into the metal plate guarding his privates hard enough to make her wince and him to grunt.  
>The pain, if there had been any, didn't seem to bother him any, unfortunately, because he started to grope her rear again, but more roughly, increasing as they neared home.<p>

All the while, Amber's despair only increased.

(O)(O)(O)

Duncan dismounted from the bike. Memories... fuzzy, hazy, mist not just in the past two centuries, but in his own childhood.

(O)(O)(O)

_A park across the street from a tree-lined row of houses, each with nearly identical picket fences, interspersed with the occasionally stonework wall. Baseball, playing with Cody and a few other boys his friend's cousins had brought from the neighborhood. He had been the odd man out, being the stranger, but had quickly proven with his batting skill and accurate throwing arm that he should have been one of the first picks._

_But, of course, for that one unfortunate foul ball. It hadn't been his fault, he had only been pitching, but he was still the stranger, the best scapegoat.  
>Cody's father had been furious, the car, an expensive black sedan, would not only need a new rear window, but body work done on the trunk as well, since the baseball had richoceted off of that before going through the window. He'd been invited- sternly- not to come back with Cody next time his and Cheryl's parents had brought them by. He'd also later found out that his father had been forced to pay for all of the damage, despite it not truly being Duncan's fault, which had explained the rather skim Christmas that year.<br>And, like any child would, he blamed the most logical choice- Cody, who had invited him and then sided with his cousin and his friends against Duncan to keep himself from getting in trouble.  
>That had been the betrayal, in Duncan's eyes, that ruined their friendship.<em>

(O)(O)(O)

"Get a hold of yourself, Walker," he whispered, idly scratching the Deathclaw's head between the two larger, forward-jutting spikes, right where it seemed to like it, "Cody's been dead two hundred years. It's ancient history. It was ancient history before the bombs fell, you were just too young to know it. There's more important things."

Why that particular memory had chosen that moment to come to him, Duncan didn't know. Except... there had been a low-grade hill between the park and the homes, just like this downgrade here, and it was facing south-west, and... was it? That _one_ house? Could it really be, that in a suburban town of several thousand homes, just _one_ had survived the passing years, and it was _that_ one?  
>"Come on, boy," Duncan said, unable to keep the quiet tremor of excitement from his voice. Surely, Amber would have recognized it. Surely she would be there.<p>

But the house was empty, both entrances on the ground floor boarded up, even what had once been sliding glass doors in the back yard. But it _was_ the same house, he identified it by the staircase leading from the sloped street down into the park, the top of which was just visible in the dust, and directly across from the home. There were no other tracks around.  
>"Damn it... lost the trail. Come on, though, we might find a clue. Let's go inside... keep your eyes open, okay boy?"<br>The Deathclaw only gave him a strange, cross-eyed look, whined, and started to pant. Duncan muttered, "No, no meat right now. You ate all the canned stuff I have anyway. Uh... go, hunt?"

The waist-high monster jumped two feet in the air with a low bark, and on landing, immediately sprinted off to the west, down the hill toward the park. There wasn't much cover but for a few stones and long-dead stumps, but maybe it had scented something.

"Now how'm I gonna get these boards off..."

(O)(O)(O)

"Whoo-hee!" the high-pitched, nasal voice called. Amber screwed her eyes shut, she didn't want to look at the thin, mottled face of the rad-sick- it had to be- man the others called 'boss'. Didn't want to hear his voice, or the rasp in his throat as he breathed in obvious excitement, didn't want to feel the bulge on her stomach as he pressed himself against her, or smell his rancid breath as she-

Amber gagged, but 'boss' didn't seem to mind. The other raiders, many of them already shooting up for doing their best to screw each other senseless, laughed. Those that were paying more attention cat-called.

"Don'chu worry, Sweet Meat, Bossy gun' let-chu in-joy't allll day! Mebbe we's even gun' keep yeew 'round, Sweet Meat! Now..." he suddenly grabbed her arms roughly and lifted, displaying surprising strength in his thin frame and lifting her completely from the ground, "le'ss git yew more- _comfta-bull_."  
>'Boss' then threw her back onto the thin mattress- barely more than a layer of ancient, flattened foam- laying attop the shallow diner counter and started tugging at the straps to her vault suit.<p>

She screamed, but again, the raiders only laughed.

(O)(O)(O)

Duncan wiped the grimy sweat from his brow with the back of his jacket arm. The search of the home had been quick, but largely fruitless. Once he'd pried the boards off (after having smashed them in half first with a large rock), he'd moved from room to room, pistol out, but found nothing more dangerous than a few mangy-looking rats. They had scurried into the shadows, and he'd ignored them.

Once he'd confirmed again that there was no one there, Duncan had searched the rooms again, one by one, relying on his memories of a time long before to help guide him to secrets that may have stayed hidden. There was no stash of pornography in Cody's cousin's room that he found, though he hadn't been looking. There had, though, been several rifle rounds he could use, and a laser pistol that might just fire, judging by the condition, if it had had power cells, taped underneath the bathroom sink.

But currently, Duncan was staring at something he'd have willingly given his right eye to own, back in the days when such things were important.

(O)(O)(O)

_"The challengers, the Minnesota Marauders, have been ranked at 15-14 for the season until this last week, when they've gone on a sudden winning streak, placing them at 18-14. However, they're also coming off a two-day break after back-to-back games. Are they going to be rested?"_

_Another commentator's voice had floated over the radio in his bedroom, where he had quietly been reading comics- Grognak at the moment- after having finished his Saturday chores before noon. He hadn't wanted to be outside in the muggy east-coast summer heat any longer than necessary.  
>"That remains to be seen, Stevie. The Marauders have certainly been a team to watch this year, but the Capitol Congressmen are having a pretty good year themselves. Off to a slow start in the first three games, they'd only one one. Now, though, they're looking at a 14-14 record themselves,. While they did just have a game yesterday, they've both been home games, so the Congressmen have been resting in their own beds instead of on the road, and we all know how much the D.C. crowds love their team!"<em>

_"Too true, Benny! If the-"_

(O)(O)(O)

Deep underneath the house, in a room that had been sealed behind an air-tight vault door accessed through a hidden door in the cellar he, Cody, and his cousin had played in just the day before that fateful baseball game, Duncan frowned. He'd known the man, Cody's cousin's father, had been a fan of baseball, but this collection was crazy. Several rookie cards from decades before the war. _Four_ autographed baseballs, one by then-President Dickerson. And the prize of the collection, in what looked like literally half-inch thick, probably bullet-resistant glass, undoubtedly wired up to a long-gone security system...

A baseball bat.

But not just _any_ baseball bat. It was cedar-and-oak, if he remembered right, with a light cherry finish. Mint condition, if you didn't count the many signatures on it as 'damage'. Duncan, as a bit of a collector himself, did not.

Sammy "The Bombshell" Davies. Miles "Longshot" Ritchie. Boomer "Big Man" Johnson. Ricky Steppes, who'd come to the team the year after the United States had annexed Canada, from the state of First Lady's Land (which had once, almost heretically, been called 'Queensland' before the barbarian Canadians had been enlightened by the U. S. Army).

The team owner, manager, and coaches, too, of course.

Without even thinking consciously about what he was doing, Duncan raised the rifle and fired.

The bullet scratched the glass, rebounded, and whizzed by the young man's head to embed itself in the ceiling behind him.

A little more consciously, Duncan stepped back into the cellar and paused. "Okay... no security's gonna be powered, it's amazing the display lights are even half-functional. Just shoot and don't miss..."

The second round, fired at a different angle, punched two inches into the webbing of the glass before stopping, but that, Duncan thought, would be enough.

It was. Just a few minutes later, Duncan was lovingly caressing the wood, calling it 'baby', and idly tossing a lit match into the baseball cards. Amber, he knew, had never particularly liked either the uncle or his obsession with baseball.

He was even whistling as he left the house, until he spotted Scratches idling toward him with... was that a giant rat? It... well... whatever. Mutations aside...

There was a distant, echoing scream. Female.

"Amber."

Duncan didn't drop the bat, but stuck it loosely through the top carry-strap of his backpack and sprinted for the bicycle. North... she was north, and she needed him _now_.

**A/N2:** You like? Let me know!

So much for getting it up in the morning- had to fix several scenes and write a couple more- but at least it's done on the same day, if toward the end instead of the beginning.

Just so you guys know, yes this will be a gritty story- it's Fallout. But there's no fade-to-black in my stories. That being said, even I have my limits. Don't expect it to get TOO much worse for Amber than it already has, after all, Duncan's on his way and not too far off. But then again, don't expect it to be easy for him, either. As anyone who has blissfully wandered into the Grizly Diner without paying attention can attest- it's not easy. Duncan's gonna have it worse, because these guys have survived (though not without losses) the Lone Wanderer, and learned from their mistakes. Lol

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Hate me for writing this story and ruining Fallout forever for you? Let me know! Reviewing is good for your soul. +Karma -Karma! And EVERYONE loves good karma! (Don't they?)


	11. Chapter 10: Bloody Reunion

**A/N:** So it's a bit late- I've been focusing on finishing up One Hour and LB2 over this story since they're much closer to completion- but here's the proof I'm still working on it. This is the climax of the first arc of the story, with one more denoument-and-setup arc coming after to wind it up. Two chapters later (Ch12) will be the first in the second arc of three, and have a significant- 6 months to a year- time skip past Ch 11. Just a warning.  
>Another warning worth noting, this chapter has <strong>graphic mentions of near-rape<strong>. The deed never actually happens, but it gets _really_ close. If that bothers you, better to skip all but the first and last couple scenes. It's also a bit violent.  
>However, I also think they're fairly important to the story, so if it was me, I wouldn't skip them.<br>Enjoy!

**Chap. 10 Bloody Reunion**

As he crested the hill, pedalling as fast as his legs would go through the cramps, Duncan debated for a moment whether he should shoot down some of the raiders at a distance. But another scream from Amber, he was sure it was her, prompted him to continue without pause. With one hand, he struggled to free the rifle, brought it up at full extension, and fired just as he flew past the lone guard, who, if Duncan hadn't misheard, was grumbling about missing all the fun with 'Sweet Meat' before she was 'Spoiled Meat'.  
>The young man wasn't sure whether the bullet connected or not, because as soon as he'd fired, he'd thrown the rifle as the guard and reached for the shotgun, pedalling even harder to counteract the slight slowing effect of the rifle. The raiders hadn't set up a wall, no defense at all except the one guard he'd just passed.<p>

Maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to save Amber before...

Well, before anything bad.

(O)(O)(O)

Amber kicked, she screamed, she punched, bit, even headbutted- twice- the grungiest, grimiest, man of the lot. Unfortunately, all she'd seemed to do was make him even madder.

"Don't think you're doin' yerself any favors there, Sweet Meat," he growled, before backhanding her across the face.

Amber's vision swam with the force of the blow, even sounds were distorted. For just a moment, it had sounded like a raider outside had screamed in pain. As well, she'd thought she'd heard the crack of a firearm. But no, that was probably just her head against the cracked formica of the diner's counter as he hit her again, this time from the other side.

She whimpered and went still. There was pain, so much pain she could hardly feel it. In a way, the young woman, who'd survived (though she hadn't known it at the time) a nuclear holocaust, was glad for it.

The incredible pain in her right lower jaw and left cheek deadened the pain in her heart and mind from what the Raider's probing, grasping fingers were doing to her modest breasts and the now-tattered remnants of her Vault Suit, at least the part between her legs.

"'at's bettah, Sweet Meat," he suddenly cooed as he moved over her, showing rotten, black-and-yellow teeth, covered with old blood stains, in a wicked grin, "make it easiah on yerself and let me show ya a good time."

Dimly, she was aware of the other Raiders, including the large man who'd brought her in, arguing amongst themselves as to who would be next to ravage her.

(O)(O)(O)

Duncan couldn't believe his luck. Not one of the raiders- and there were many- had seemed to notice his rifle discharge, because each one was focused with abandon on the screaming woman just ten feet away, ten feet through a host of unwashed, rancid bodies covered in sweat and who-knows-what-else.

The shotgun was already in hand as he dismounted the bike at a run, leaving it to clatter to the ground noisily. That unusual sound made a few of the Raiders turn. The first two, standing next to each other, received a barrel of buckshot to the face. Neither got up again.

The third, further away, was able to cry out an alarm, but, again most fortunately, Duncan saw through the haze of his adrenalin rush that most of the Raiders throught he was merely excited about having his way with the girl in their midst. Only one more turned in his direction.  
>The one, the closest, Duncan struck across the face with the barrels of the shotgun, hard enough to shatter his nose and, if he wasn't mistaken, bend the steel tubes out of shape. <em>One weapon ruined, four raiders down Maybe one behind me, but Scratches is back there somewhere.<em>

Just as he dropped the shotgun in favor of his best close-range weapon, the shiny new (or ancient, depending on how you looked at it) baseball bat he'd picked up in Amber's uncle's home.

When the oak-sheathed cedar ripped itself- seemingly under it's own power- from the top carry-strap of his backpack, Duncan actually smiled, despite being outnumbered twelve-to-two (was Scratches even back there?). The weapon, simple as it was by technology's standards, simply fit in his hand like it was made for him.

_And besides,_ he mused while bringing it forward in a tight arc to smash into the temple of the nearest unaware Raider, a woman, who seemed quite as excited as the men at the prospect of raping his friend, _it is a rather high-tech bat, isn't it? They don't make them like this any more, I bet._

When the bat impacted the woman's shaven head, there was a loud double-crack, louder even than the report of the shotgun.  
>Duncan felt a slight shock of impact in his hands, lighter than he'd have expected, but the woman's skull exploded out her left ear, leaving the rest of her body to crumple, twitching, to the ground.<br>"Wow!" he muttered, pausing for a moment (perhaps unwisely) to admire the sheer damage it had done. This was no ordinary bat, not by any means. "It's a fuckin' _power-fist _bat!"

It would surely have been illegal in a game, but as a display piece... possibly the strongest, most powerful, baseball bat ever made. It would make breaking the balls incredibly easy.

For his lapse of attention, Duncan received a stab in the belly, which made him double over and grunt. He was undoubtedly wounded, but fortunately, his leather armor seemed to turn away the worst of the blow. The switchblade fell from his armor when, with a roar of anger, a small (only nine inches!) Deathclaw hand severed the raider's from his arm.

"Good to see you, boy," Duncan called, already standing, ignoring the pain in his stomach, to bring the bat upwards, taking out another Raider's chin and face. As the gore, accompanied by the same double-crack, arced up toward the shabby ceiling of the diner, Duncan caught his first glimpse of wavy, almost-clean brown hair, just the color of dark honey.

"Amber!" he cried out, but she either hadn't heard over the sound of combat, or was unconscious, because she didn't react.  
>A moment later, the hole was filled with a very large, burly man holding a shield made of a stop sign and a makeshift bludgeon which appeared to be crafted from several poorly-tied steel stakes, and a badly-cut section of an I-beam. "Yer not gettin' yer hands on our Sweet Meat, boy!" the man roared, raising the mace high and putting the shield forward.<p>

Growling in a fashion eerily similar to the Raider's, Duncan, praying the reverberating effect of the bat would continue working here, swung at the shield directly.

The Raider, for his part, grinned. How dumb a fool did you have to be to attack the _most_ protected part of an enemy?  
>Then his arm shattered, the impact of the bat diffused through the shield actually made it worse. No bone piece from wrist to elbow was larger than a half-inch. He cried out in pain, tried to drop the shield, and forgot to bring his mace down to protect his groin.<p>

Duncan's next upward swing would have been unbearably painful, agony to the point of death, had the bat's concussive force not lifted him from the ground to smash head-first into the ceiling fan. A lucky strike, for the sharp remants of it killed him as they entered his brain.

Now surrounded by six Raiders, though he could hear the young Deathclaw fighting furiously a few feet away as the once-humans began to panic, Duncan spun around in a wide circle with the bat out, hoping to get himself some breathing room.

"Come on," he cried, "Not so fun picking on people who can fight back, is it, you bitches? _Is it?_"

It hadn't been the desired effect, honestly, the Old-Worlder was hoping to kill every last one, but the majority broke and ran at his outburst. Perhaps, as he took a moment to make sure he wasn't being flanked, the fact that almost half of their number had been dropped in about the same fraction of a minute, by only two creatures, had a detrimental effect to their morale.

But one Raider, just one, was still ignoring him.

The hellspawn was grinding one of Amber's nipples between two teeth, hard enough to make her bleed, and the other breast was being mauled hard enough to bruise with one hand. His second hand was now pulling down the zipper of his trousers (which, Duncan was surprised to see, had the faded patch of Paradise Falls embroidered on the side). Her own Vault Suit's lower section had been ripped away to allow access. Apparently, this Raider, probably the leader given his slightly better dress and weaponry, was so intent on having his way with her he hadn't wanted to wait to get her completely naked.

"Amber!" he cried out again. Duncan was leaping forward, bat at the ready for another powerful swing.

(O)(O)(O)

The pain in her head, Amber found, was growing no worse. However, he chest now ached- and was growing worse by the moment- from the things this man, this... this _thing_ was doing to her. Worse, she now knew her nether regions were completely unprotected, because she'd felt him slip a finger inside her, spreading filth all over her, and then heard him cackle when he'd found her a virgin. He hadn't bothered reporting that to his men, though. It would likely have caused problems fighting over who would be the first of the dozen or so to repeatedly rape her if they'd known.

But, mere moments after he'd begun to struggle with his fly, a whistle of something red-tan blurred across Amber's swimming vision, and the Raider's head was suddenly gone in a slow-motion mist of red.

"Aaaaaannzzzzrrrrr?"

What was that?

It wasn't human, that's for sure...

But wait, hadn't Amber herself just been stricken two powerful blows, one over an ear? Maybe her hearing was messed up.

Maybe she had a concussion.

Maybe she wouldn't remember being raped.

That was a good thought, she found, as she slipped into unconsciousness.

(O)(O)(O)

"Amber, this is Scratches. Scratches, Amber. No, Scratches, _bad boy_! Don't you hurt her!"

The Deathclaw, which had reached out a tentative claw to prod her soft, half-bare belly, halted and pulled back. It cocked it's head at him, then leaned forward to sniff instead.

After several whuffs, it backed away, and Duncan considered it safe to move forward. When Scratches had growled at him- _him_- for approaching, the young man had feared it wanted to eat her, feared he'd have to do his best to kill the thing before it killed him or the only link he had to his past.

But this... it was almost protective of her, even though they'd never met. "Good boy. Keep her safe, okay? I'm... I'm gonna see what I can do, all right? Why don't you... uh... go eat. Yeah, go. Eat. Okay? Eat."

With a pleased-sounding whuff-bark, the monster- nearly as tall as Amber, now (and how did a normal animal grow so big so _fast?_), gripped the more-intact arm of the large shield-carrying man and dragged him outside, where he immediately began to rip into the man's chest cavity with his claws and teeth.

Repressing a shudder, Duncan turned instead to Amber, who seemed blissfully unconscious. "That's a good sign... or maybe it's bad. I don't know... what the hell am I supposed to do in a case like this? We didn't cover rescuing rape victims in the Boy Scouts!"

But, as he looked around, Duncan did see a few things that stood out as higher priorities. No woman, he knew, wanted to be naked out in the middle of nowhere. Even if Amber was clothed somewhat, all the 'important bits' were uncovered for all to see.

And no, Duncan would not let himself be distracted by those sights. Not now, not right after she'd... maybe he'd remember them later, but for now, the urge to care for and protect his only friend was far more powerful than even a fourteen-year-old boy's urge to mate with anything that moved and breathed.

"Right, clothing. I don't think she'd want to wear anything these bastards have. Mine is a bit loose... I have that leather armor, though. It's got a few bullet holes, but it'll cover a lot more than she's got now. Might even fit. For the bottom... I guess my blanket will do?"

It was a threadbare thing, but only the wealthiest of Big Town's citizens (not including MacReady and Princess, who elected to get by only with what they needed, much to her displeasure) had 'new' blankets woven from dog or brahmin fur. They were terribly scratchy, if warm, and Duncan couldn't stand them. So he'd made do with a single warn blanket from hundreds of years before on the road. At his cousin's- his- home, there were actual becs, with actual mattresses, and several blankets still in servicable condition. Now, though... "If I fold it up and pin it somehow, maybe with a belt, it should go to her ankles..."

Duncan, now grateful she appeared to be mostly uninjured, flipped a mattress- one of only two- over to the slightly cleaner side and laid the blanket on it, before picking Amber up as gently as possible- she still whimpered and shied away, even unconscious, before covering her with the other half. "Sorry, Amber... I got a bit of work to do. Stay asleep if you can, I'll keep you safe."  
>A low growl from outside prompted Duncan to add, "And Scratches will, too."<p>

He set to work with the grisly task of taking the useful objects from the Raiders- several weapons, and not much in the way of armor or medical supplies- and dragging their bodies outside to be burned.

It took nearly an hour, even though he'd only taken them perhaps ten feet outside the door, with another stack of weaponry about half that distance from the diner. But now, Amber was starting to stir.

"Amber, don't move," he whispered.  
>She winced, her emerald-green eyes flew open in terror, and she immediately backed away as far as she could, getting tangled in the blanket even further than her tossing had moments before.<p>

"Amber, it's me! It's Duncan! You're safe, they're all dead!"

It took repeating those words, in no particular order, more than a dozen times before it seemed to start sinking in.  
>"D- Duncan?"<p>

He nodded, "Yeah. You remember me, right? Duncan Maddox? Taylor's older brother?"

This time, she nodded weakly, "Why wouldn't I remember you? It just... I didn't recognize you. You look... different."

He flopped down into a half-crouch, "Well, I _am_ about... four or five years older than you have the most memories of. Um... I don't want to ask this, but... what's the last thing you remember?"

She frowned, allowed her eyes to drift half-closed, and shuddered. "The baseball bat. At least, I think that's what it was. And red mist."

This time, Duncan followed suit, frowning himself. "So... so you remember everything? What... what was about to happen?"

She nodded, suddering, and began to cry silently. As she huddled further into herself, Duncan did his best to comfort her by talking in a low, quiet voice while he puttered around the diner.

"They're all gone, Amber. Dead or run away. They won't be back, at least not soon. And if they do come back, me and Scratches will take care of them. They aren't going to get you, not ever. You're... you're safe, as safe as I can make you. Okay?"

She didn't respond, of course, but she allowed him to get close enough to tug the blanket out from under her and wrap it around herself loosely. "It's going to get cold tonight, I think, but this will keep you warm. We'll probably need to stay here. I know you don't want to, but I don't want to get caught out there with no protection if the Raiders who ran off find us."

She nodded, but didn't otherwise react.  
>"And... I've got something you can wear. It's not much, but... it's more than what those pricks left you. I'm... I'm sorry I... I kind of saw... well... stuff."<p>

The hesitancy in Duncan's tone, the blush on his adult-like face, or some combination of both broke through. Amber smiled, then started laughing. At first, Duncan was relieved, until it suddenly turned hysterical.

"You- you _saw_? Who the hell _cares_, Duncan? I was almost _gang-raped_ by like, _fifteen people_, and you think I care that you saw me naked? You _saved_ me from that!"

Then she threw herself at him, kissing him wildly, and if it weren't for the blanket clumsily wrapped around her, Duncan was sure she'd be groping him as well. At least, that's the direction her hands seemed to be moving in.

Fortunately, he had presence of mind- and a bit of training- enough to recognize traumatic shock. "Amber... stop. Stop. This... this isn't the time, and it's not the place."

She froze a moment after he'd finished speaking, and suddenly burst into tears again. "You hate me, don't you? Hate me for what I did... for what those... those bastards were going to do."

Slowly, unsure if he dared make this move, Duncan wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close, doing his best to ignore the sobs and tears staining his own leather shirt. "I don't hate you. I didn't come here and almost get myself killed because I hate you, Amber. Hell... I might even like you, just a little. You aren't the dick that Cody was, any way, and not so annoyingly girly as Taylor and Cheryl."

"You like me?"

He nodded against her hair, "Started noticing how pretty you were right after I woke up. I... I've just been thinking about you a lot. I don't even really know you, but you're the best link to... well.. what came before I've got. If nothing else, you're my friend, right?"

She hesitated, nodded, then separated slightly. With eyes still streaming tears, she gave him a relatively chaste peck with still-swollen lips on the cheek. "Maybe... maybe a little more. I always admired you, even back then. Now... now you're my savior. And pretty handsome, too. I don't know, it just... it doesn't seem real, you know?"

He nodded, "Yeah... lots of crazy shit going on out there. Did you see Scratches?"

"Your new dog?"  
>Duncan laughed, "No... not quite. You'll see. Just wait 'till morning."<p>

(O)(O)(O)

The screech of terror made Duncan wake with a start. Amber was gone, but the spot next to him was still warm. The blanket was gone as well, which meant she'd taken it for concealment from at least his eyes.  
>The growls suddenly coming from his 'pet' Deathclaw, though, were worrisome. Duncan bolted upright and to the door, hand already on the bat (which, now that he had a moment to think on it, probably more closely resembled a Super-Sledge's technology than a Power Fist's). When he reached the shattered doorway, he saw Amber crouched behind a tree, and Scratches about ten feet away, whuffling with something that closely resembled laughter.<p>

"Scratches! Bad boy! That was mean! He's- he's totally safe, Amber! Finish whatever you were doing, and come back in. He won't hurt you, I promise! Bad Scratches!"

But when the still red-faced young woman returned to the diner, the Deathclaw was still laughing as it rooted around in the dead Raider's bodies for tasty bits to munch on.

"What were you doing in the area?" Duncan asked, "Anything I can help with?"

Amber shook her head, "No... I was looking for my family's house. The one with the park across the street? But the whole town's been wiped out, there were just a few lucky houses standing."

Duncan smiled, showed her the baseball bat, and said, "Not quite. Your cousins were pretty lucky, I guess."

Amber's eyes widened, "Uncle Danny's bat? How did... did you really _steal_ it?"

Suddenly sheepish, Duncan put it down and turned away, "Well... I thought you'd left it on purpose and wouldn't care. It's yours if you want it. He doesn't need it."

But Amber only chuckled, "No, no, it's yours now. I know you've wanted that thing since you guys broke into his vault when we were kids. Is... Is that _the_ bat? The one you... you saved me with?"

He nodded, "Yep. It's one-of-a-kind. I think it's got either Power Fist or Super-Sledge tech in it, 'cause even a weaker swing was just blowing their heads... oh. Sorry."

She was suddenly pale, even swaying slightly.  
>He moved over and, with a gentle arm, guided her back onto the mattress they'd spent the night on.<br>"Take it easy. I'm going to get us something to eat, gather up our supplies, and then we'll be out of here. Any idea where you want to go?"

She shook her head, but as he stood, she grabbed his wrist, jerking him to a halt.  
>"How long were you going to pretend you haven't been <em>stabbed<em>, Duncan?"

He blinked, looked down, and muttered, "Damn, I'd forgotten. It's not that deep, I totally forgot about it."

Amber's eyes rolled, "That's not the _point_. Who knows how many strange bacteria are lurking around these days? You have to treat injuries as soon as possible! Do you have any stimpacks? The Raiders took mine."

He nodded, "Yeah, I think I gathered them up. There was a pile of stuff that looked too new for them. Got a few others besides, they were pretty well equipped. The last band of Raiders I met up with had garbage- literally, the best weapon they had was a tire iron."

She listened raptly to the story while she patched him up (She wouldn't let him do it himself, despite his insistance he was fine doing so), then gave a low whistle.

"I can't believe how much more dangerous it is alone... I thought it was bad travelling around with those Knights of Steel or whatever."

"Brotherhood? Yeah, I heard you'd been with them for a while. Why'd you split off?"  
>She shrugged, "Wanted to see if my cousin's house was there, but they weren't going in the area. Figured I'd be safe... shows what I know. They even gave me a pistol, one of those fancy NG models, but I broke it like, the second day. Not sure how, it just wouldn't fire. I had to run from a giant rat-thing."<p>

Duncan shuddered, "I saw one the other day, Scratches caught it while I was in the house. Ate it down in like, ten bites, and it was almost as big as me."

Thinking her scrunched up nose was distaste for the monster itself, Duncan said, "Hey, be nice. He's saved my life more than once. I don't think he's any smarter than a dog, but he's loyal, and he can follow instructions. Easy ones, at least."

"No, no," she muttered, "It's the _name_. For something with claws like that, you named him 'Scratches'. Really? Show some imagination! How about... Hellion?"

Duncan frowned.

"No? What about... Phobos? Deimos? Fear and terror?"

Duncan shook his head, "No, everyone that see's him's terrified already. Don't need to make it worse."

"Hmm... Cuddles? No, too girly for you."

This time, Duncan smiled. Amber might have known him better than she'd thought.  
>"Sniffles? Snuffles... Whiskers... Fang... Hades... Charon... Cereberus?"<p>

The Deathclaw outside poked his head in and barked.

Amber looked over, repeated, "Cerberus?"  
>It barked again.<p>

Duncan allowed his eyes to roll, just once. That was one battle he knew he'd never win. Ages past, Taylor had had a pet rabbit. Amber had been the one to call it "Snookums", and ever since, no matter how many names others tried, it would only react to that one.

She just had a way, he thought, with getting animals to accept her names.

"What the hell does Cerberus even mean?"

Amber only looked away, grinning, "I'm _so_ not telling you. Not after you let that thing scare the crap out of me this morning."

Duncan snorted, "I thought you were already getting the crap out of you?"

Amber's glare made him immediately repentant of opening his mouth, "And now you're _never_ going to know what it means."

"Oh, come on!"

(O)(O)(O)

"Canterbury Trading Post?"

Duncan nodded, "Yeah. Closest town I know about, and we need to get checked out by actual doctors. And sell all this crap, I don't want to lug two hundred pounds of weapons around the Wasteland any longer than I have to."

Amber looked behind him, to where a crude travois had been rigged up to drag behind the bicycle. "You don't expect to actually _ride_ it with that on there, do you?"  
>He shook his head, "Course not. Just gonna push it. It's a single-seater, I can't take you anyway."<p>

She nodded. "All right... so what's the smaller pile off to the side?"

As Amber bent to prod at the stack of weaponry, he couldn't help but admire the way the sculpted leather armor he'd 'obtained' from the mercenary, Reggie, fit Amber's figure. They were a very close match, Amber being possibly a size larger, so her chest was pushed out a bit more than the merc's had been by the leather.

And he was all for more impressive cleavage.

_No, bad Duncan. She's just been... well... leave those thoughts alone for now._

"That's your gear. All the stimpacks I could find, some trade goods, and weapons."

"You want me to carry a grenade?"

He nodded firmly, "Hell yes. Just one, just in case. If all else fails... you pull the pin and keep it close. You won't have to worry about... about things like like the other day. Just make it a _last_ resort. I'm not giving this stuff to you so you can kill yourself in a fit of depression. It's _not_ your fault. Okay?"

Strangely relieved by his blunt manner, Amber grinned to herself as she started awkwardly gathering up the NG-99 10mm pistol (with a holster in decent condition), twelve rounds for it, the grenade, a combat knife, and a crude but effective-looking spear.

"Why the spear?"  
>He shrugged, "I'd suck with it. I never learned to throw the things, but you did pretty well in P.E., right?"<br>She nodded, "Javelin toss wasn't my best event, but I did do plenty of track... I guess I can see it as a backup weapon."  
>He nodded, "Let's get going, then. Come on, Scratches. You should probably practice on the way, if you can," he finished as an aside to Amber.<p>

It was ten minutes later that he realized the Deathclaw was still standing far behind them now at the diner.

He groaned, and called, "All right, come on _Cereberus_".

With a happy woof, the Deathclaw barreled toward them in a rapid lope.

**A/N2:** You like? Let me know!

So much for Duncan having a harder time. I decided it was more fun with him catching them by surprise. And the bat being a Super-Bat? Yeah, that was spur-of-the-moment, but I think it works. It's going to be his first 'named' weapon, but it won't be finished until the end of the next chapter- he's making it himself using his high 'repair' (with some input from Amber).

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Hate me for writing this story and ruining Fallout forever for you? Let me know! Reviewing is good for your soul. +Karma -Karma! And EVERYONE loves good karma! (Don't they?)


	12. Chapter 11: Stable is as Stable Does

**A/N:** Here you go- an actual-factual update. I told you they were coming. :)  
>Note, I have deleted the petition chapter for this story- I'll be doing that with all of them as I update, but I figure they aren't going to be necessary that long, one way or the other.<p>

This is the last chapter in the arc (the first of three I have planned), and winds down the action of last chapter. Rest assured, there's still a little action, but it's mostly set-up for the next and concluding the first. Still, the real meat of the next arc won't be explained yet... just hinting at it.  
>Enjoy!<p>

**Chap. 11 Stable is as Stable does**

"You again? Still got that horrible monster with you, I see. This your woman?"

Duncan frowned, Amber snorted. "She's not 'my woman', she's her own person, but yes, this is the one I was trying to find. Her name's Amber."

The guard, the only one at the Canterbury gates he recognized, nodded toward the trio for the benefit of the rest, "I _told_ you there was a psycho wanderin' 'round with a pet Deathclaw. Still can't let it into the city, man, Roe's orders. He said he wanted to talk to you before even thinkin' on it."

Duncan nodded, "Makes sense. Where can I find him?"

But as he moved to step past the guards, the spokesman held up a hand in the universeal 'stop' gesture, "Hold on! I'm still not lettin' that thing get anywhere close to me. You best tie it up at the same tree you used before, 'less you want us to use it as target practice. Make sure it don't get loose, neither."

With a shrug, Duncan complied. While he was doing so, with Amber attempting to soothe the suddenly-whining Deathclaw, she whispered, "Can we really trust these guys? The people I talked to inside when I was here a few days ago mentioned that the guards sometimes get a bit rough."

"Nothing we can do about it if we can't," he replied in the same low tone, "but I don't think they can bring him down. If they open fire, he'll chew or slash through the rope and take them out. That'd be bad for _us_, but he'd be fine."

Somehow, he knew from the expression on her face, Amber wasn't much reassured.

(O)(O)(O)

"Stupid Wasteland! Stupid psychatric fees! Stupid Raiders! Stupid- _Ow_!"

Duncan's grumbling rapidly regressed to cursing and even lower, less-polite mutters as he hopped around on one foot, clutching his other foot with both hands. The sturdy boots he'd been walking around in, the best (in his opinion) equipment he'd gained from Vault One-Hundred, had seen better days. Perhaps kicking aside some of the heavy steel and concrete before the door to the RobCo Robot Repair Center had not been the best idea.

"Aaargh! This _sucks_!" he screamed to the sky, then bent and, with a grunt of pain and frustration, hurled the offending beam over, away from the door. "I can't believe this is going to cost so much! She was almost raped and killed, almost eaten, and I have to pay _ten thousand caps_ for a shrink to come up and help her? Damn it, where am I gonna get that kinda money?"

His guide, a scruffy-looking old man who went by the name of 'Dom', spit to the side and replied, "Best place to get money 'round here's this building. Anyway, I decided I don't need no payment. Was a nice little walk, aside from your bitchin'. You have a nice day, and don't let the robots kill ya'."

For a few long seconds, Duncan watched the older gentleman- because he had very much been a gentleman, despite the numerous battle-scars and casual ease with which he carried the beat-up assault rifle on his back- walk back across the shattered parking lot toward the hill leading into town. "Damn," he muttered, "I guess I can't argue with free, but I could have used another gun if there's active robots in here. Stupid security!"

He made to kick the pile of rubble again, but caught himself just in time. Breathing a sigh of relief, he called out, "Hey, you sure this place is at least mostly safe?"

Dom turned and walked backwards for a few steps, grinning, "Yeah! Round 'bout ten years back, that Lone Wanderer girlie came in, convinced The Mechanist and his 'arch rival' The AntAgonizer to clear out. He took most o' his machines with 'im. Still here reports of danger, but I imagine it's been mostly cleaned up by the other looters that've come since!"

Without another word, Dom gave a casual wave, turned back in the direction of Canterbury Commons, and continued on his way.

It took nearly an hour for Duncan to shift enough rubble from the most-recent collapse of the building's exterior to get the main entrance open. Once inside, he almost wished he hadn't bothered. The place was a wreck. While there were certainly signs in the lobby that it had weathered the nuclear war rather well, ten years of looters- er, scavengers- had undoubtedly taken their toll. Stripped-out shells of Protectrons, several models, judging by the paint jobs littered the small lobby. Further on, a three-legged Security Bot was even more stripped, down to just a mangled skeleton and a single machne-gun arm, which was itself missing several parts.

"Hell," he muttered, then moved in to take a better look. There had to be at least some parts in here. Something he could sell for a down-payment on Amber's treatments. Because he would be damned himself if he'd let her nightmares continue another day if he could help it.  
>They hadn't started right away. In fact, aside from that first big cry she'd had the day he'd rescued her, Amber had seemed fine. But two days in, the night after they'd arrived at the Trading Post for the first time, he'd been woken by horrified screaming. It took nearly a minute for his adrenaline to calm enough to realize they were not under attack. At least, not physically.<p>

Instead, Amber was thrashing about her bed, screaming for "Sweaty" and "Grimey" to stop, to leave her alone, not to hurt her, not to...

In a flash, or at least a quick hustle, he'd been across the tiny room Roe had allotted in the combination hostel-business he ran and at her side. The black eye he'd received before she woke up had been unnoticed until the next morning, but it had taken him actually waking Amber up and climbing into the bedroll with her before she calmed, and even then she sobbed fitfully through the night rather than sleeping deeply.  
>He, himself, hadn't had a wink of sleep in two days, worrying about her.<p>

"Maybe that's why I'm so grumpy..." he mused.  
>As tired eyes continued to scan the dusty, dark offices which ran left from the lobby, Duncan continued to gripe about how much it was going to cost. The psychiatrist Roe had contacted for him (the man was, no matter his mercenary- or at least merchant- bent, very helpful) resided in "Rivet City", wherever that was. A long way, out in the Wastes, regardless. She had only asked for a total of two thousand caps for a six-month treatment, any recurring problems that cropped up later included (as long as the doctor survived). However, the fees for the doctor coming up to Canterbury, or, Duncan's preference, Big Town, were astronomical. Food, clean water, <em>guards<em>... room and board, even though he'd offered to let the doctor stay at his home free, all added up. Six months of supporting another person and paying for medical bills? He'd have been working in a career for ten or twenty years in the old world before he could've afforded such a thing- and that was with insurance.

How would he do such a thing in this devastated world where almost nothing made sense?

But he had to try. Several people in the town had suggested he try scavving in the repair center, and a couple had been polite enough to send him to Dom, who'd offered to take him there for a few caps. But it would take, according to his estimates, a major haul to come up with that kind of money. Still, the doctor had been nice enough to start the journey for two thousand, as long as he could continue paying two thousand per month until it was paid off. It was a tall order, but Duncan would do what he had to. Amber needed him, and that was all there was to it.

Just as he'd made that resolution, he stepped from the office into the main repair bay of the center.

And got shot, with a high-power laser, right in the shoulder.

"Damn it!" he shouted, throwing himself back behind the wall, "I thought this place was safe!"

For a moment after, he listened. There was no whir of wheels, no clank of a Protectron's steps. As far as he could tell, nothing was coming closer. The laser, a bright red beam, had flashed for a moment out of the darkness at the far end of the bay, and he hadn't seen it. But it had been high up.  
>Wincing, he pulled back the leather armor on the shoulder, and, before he could bring himself to look at the actual wound, peered through the hole at the ground below. "This is so not my day..." he muttered, then forced his eyes further down.<p>

The wound had, fortunately, mostly cauterized. It appeared to go in about three centimeters in a mostly-smooth divot, which was only oozing blood slightly between the cracked, blackened flesh. Of course, it was terribly painful, but Duncan was nothing if not a realist. He had to treat it, yes, but safety came first. Taking just a moment to rip the cover from one of the stimpacks in the pocket of his leather jacket, he stabbed it into the shoulder just above the wound and pushed.  
>With a grunt, he ripped it out a moment later, tossed it to the floor, and risked a quick glance around the corner as the painkillers kicked in.<p>

Nothing.

Just swirling dust (that probably disturbed only by him recently) and... No, _there_. A blinking red light, high up, but not as high as the ceiling. It was moving slightly, back and forth. And... it stopped moving, pointing in his direction.

This time, Duncan was able to yank his head back behind the corner before the beam would have killed him. It still scorched a hole in the wall behind him and set a small fire, which guttered for a few seconds before winking out. "Wow," he breathed, "maybe it _is_ my lucky day. What the hell is that?"

Whatever it was, it didn't appear to be moving. The wrench he tossed out into the room was left alone, but the used stimpack was vaporized before it hit the ground. "Thermal tracking. Shit. I can't ice myself. How the hell... but this is where the stuff is!"

And it was. From his vantage point on what looked like a loading dock, he could see rows of Protectrons, half-assembled, with parts for them laying in mostly-ordered rows. A veritable fortune in robots, even back when they were commonplace. He only had to get past that lethal guardian. Somehow.  
>"Maybe the other way..."<p>

Limping because of his stubbed toe and clutching one hand to the oozing wound in his shoulder, Duncan moved back to the lobby and took the other hall. He ignored the obviously-jammed service elevator, and moved into the other repair bay cautiously.

No lasers greeted him. In fact, the room was silent as a tomb. For many robots, that's exactly what it was. The room had, apparently, been the site of a major battle. There were no human bodies, but robots, many with laser burns themselves, littered the floor, the catwalks higher in the room, and the stairs between. A couple had even, he guessed, tried to walk onto the loading elevator and fallen with it to the ground below when it had collapsed.

But the stairs were servicable. And there were lights up there. "All right," he muttered, "up we go. No more lasers. No more lasers."

It was clear. The various robots he passed were given no more than a cursory glance; they had all been looted to the point of worthlessness. Unless he needed much-damaged shells. Another Security Bot, too, had both weapons stripped. The only piece that might have functioned, had the circuitry not been fried by some kind of electromagnetic pulse (though Duncan could not claim to be an expert, scorched circuits with clean boards was a clear sign), would have been the sensors. As it was, though... "Useless," he said, and kicked the thing again.  
>"Damn it!" he yelled into the darkness, wincing again. His limp was decidedly worse as he continued along the catwalk toward the source of the light.<p>

It was a single working computer, attached to a single working repair bay. There were more lights in a room next door, but as there was no movement, he figured he'd save the walk on his poor foot.  
>The monitor was already on.<p>

"RobCo Maintenance Program Model Number blah blah... Notices, Department Memos, Security, and... what's this? I don't... GCCAATATCAGGGACTACG? What's that?" Curious, Duncan clicked the icon on the simple menu. What he got was worse. A string of garbled data, pages and pages of it, scrolled at high speed past the monitor. The only pattern he could detect was that only those four letters were used, over and over, in some kind of combination.  
>"Whatever... back to Security... Okay. No PulseEMP equipment allowed... new RobCo turrets in- holy shit! That's military hardware!"

Growling in frustration, Duncan was tempted to kick the chair laying on it's side next to the monitor, but again resisted the desire at the urging of his toe. "Okay... disable? No, of course not. Only a manager's card. Of course. Well... hard way it is. I guess I can use my grenade. That should take it down. Right?"

Of course, he received no answer but the slight hum of the computer in the otherwise silent robotic tomb.

The next room was apparently the server room for the building, though much of it was powered down. Several systems had, apparently, already been stripped. Only two small banks of lights flickered on and off, and Duncan couldn't make heads or tails of what they actually meant. But when he opened the first of two doors on the other side of the building, he screamed "Oh shit!" and slammed the door shut, throwing himself to the floor again. A moment later, the door started to smoke from a hole in the center.  
>"There's <em>two<em> of them? Come _on_!"

There were indeed, two of the turrets, mounted on opposite sides of what looked like the power station for the center. One had been watching the door he'd come from, the other pointed vaguely in the direction he'd been shot at from first.  
>With a groan at 'wasting the hardware', Duncan reached around on his backpack and fished for the last grenade he owned.<p>

"Okay... they're below me a few feet, so if I stay low they can't hit me. I just have to get it close, even if they're military they should be taken down, right?"

Slowly, he opened the door, peering out as he did so, waiting for the slightest hint of a sensor or barrel before he slammed it shut again- there was about a second delay between visual contact and firing, he'd noticed, as if the guns still had to confirm he was a 'hostile' before opening fire.  
>Once it was half-way open, he could just make out the top of a turret, but the lens was below the edge of the catwalk beyond the door. With a quiet sigh of relief, Duncan pulled the pin and threw.<p>

He was amazed at the accuracy of the throw; even from a prone position, he could see the grenade bounce off the lens of the sensor before it clattered to the floor at the turret's feet.  
>Duncan clenched his eyes shut and slammed his hands over his ears.<p>

And then waited.

For a full sixty seconds, he waited.

But nothing happened.

Finally, after about five minutes, he slithered backwards, whimpering, and ran as fast as he could back to the door, back outside, back for Canterbury Trading Post.

When he stormed, furious and red-eyed, into the hostel room, Amber didn't even get out a curious "What's wrong?" before he growled, "Firepower. Now."  
>Grabbing up the heaviest weapons in his arsenal, Duncan stomped back out of the room. A few seconds later, as Amber heard the door below slam shut, she whispered, "Why does he need <em>that<em>?"

But if anyone in Canterbury thought it strange for a relative unknown to be loading a missile into a rocket launcher as he stalked down the street, no one dared give him more than a passing glance.

_Boom_.

After dodging four more beams by the skin of his teeth- and losing a few hairs to singing in the process- Duncan was quite satisfied with the second explosion. Throwing the smoking firing rings out into the chamber, he was more satisfied when the turrets did not try to vaporize the hot metal.  
>It was only then that he risked a clear view. Directly below him, there were two smoking rods of metal that once held military-grade laser turrets. Oh, and smoke, and a bit of fire. The reinforced building-inside-a-building they had been sitting on, however, appeared undamaged but for the scorch marks. The catwalk itself had been twisted upwards, but was likely still servicable. And if not... there was the other entrance, still.<br>Sure, it had cost him two rockets, but the lasers were gone, and now that half of the repair center was all his...

Well, all Amber's psychiatrists. Eventually, anyway. First, he had to get it out of there and back to Canterbury... maybe he should see about hiring help?

(O)(O)(O)

In the end, the young man had been forced to sell his rocket launcher (and the missiles) to cover the cost of the doctor, but it had paid for the entire six-month treatment process, as well as her hired guards- a man named Harkness and a woman named Gina- who had also agreed to accompany the group to Big Town in return for provisions to get back home on. As part of the agreement, Duncan would have to escort the woman home himself, or pay an extra thousand caps, once the treatment was done and Amber was pronounced 'fit'.  
>Of course, the fact that the doctor herself was a woman who strongly resembled an older version of his mother may have helped sway him to her side, but Amber did not take to the woman immediately.<p>

In fact, within minutes of meeting each other, the younger was shouting and the older trying in vain to calm her down.  
>Things like "I'm not broken!" and "Shut up, hag!" were said. Duncan refused to acknowledge which side had said the most.<br>In the end, though, he had put his foot down. He had risked life and limb, he informed Amber in no uncertain terms, for her health. She _would_ accept the treatment, and do her best to get better. She _would_ treat the woman with respect, because she had also travelled a long way through dangerous territory to get there for Amber's benefit, and she _would_ be grateful.

A part of Duncan hated himself for trying to control her, to guilt her- or whatever- into behaving. But Amber had acquiesed immediately, and the doctor had given him a greatful, and understanding, look.  
>That very night, Amber's sessions began. For the first half-hour, the doctor had asked Duncan to be there as she encouraged the younger woman to recount all she could recall of the experience.<p>

It horrified him, but he remained silent.  
>How could he not? What could he say to make it better? Nothing.<br>Aside from providing this doctor, there was nothing he could do. So he sat in silence, holding her hand, as she wept. But once she'd gotten started, Amber didn't seem to have the ability to stop. In fact, she continued explaining what had happend until the doctor herself had arrived.  
>For a while, he'd been sure she would interrupt, halt the story. But she had not.<br>Instead, after Amber had fallen silent, the doctor had merely said in a soft voice, "Thank you for telling me that, Amber. I know how hard it was. I had to do the same thing, once. But now that you've clearly acknowledged what you've been through, we can truly begin. At least, that is if you'd like me to help you. I won't force you, I get paid the same regardless. Whether you have the help of someone who's trained to help you, and more, has been through a similar experience, is entirely up to you."

At the revlation of the doctor's own past, Duncan shuddered. Was it really that commonplace now?

Of course, in the end, Amber agreed.

Four days later, the guards departed from Big Town, leaving Amber and the doctor- a dark-skinned woman named Allison Cantelli- to explore his home while he spent a few hours hunting down MacReady. He had some questions for the mayor.  
>Questions for which he wanted answers.<p>

**A/N2:** You like? Let me know!

As always, review, folks! Makes a writer's world go 'round, it does. ;)  
>As a heads up, I have almost decided against AFF if I have to move. More likely it'll be Ficwad, or something else. I don't mind AFF as a site, but their disorganized... mess really bothers me as a writer. I don't want my fics lost in the mess, I want people to be able to find them. I'll let everyone know as soon as I settle on a place.<br>Again, though, that's _if_ I have to move. Hopefully Ffnet will see reason before then.  
>'till next time, chiiiildren!<p>

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Hate me for writing this story and ruining Fallout forever for you? Let me know! Reviewing is good for your soul. +Karma -Karma! And EVERYONE loves good karma! (Don't they?)


End file.
